


Cognitive Dissonance

by derriere_le_miroir



Category: Deus Ex: Human Revolution, Metal Gear
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Cyberpunk, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, Cybernetics, Cyberpunk, Cyborgs, Dom/sub Undertones, Established Relationship, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Masculine Men, Mild Painplay, One Shot, Oral Sex, Prosthetic Porn, Rimming, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-03
Updated: 2014-02-15
Packaged: 2017-12-07 09:43:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 41,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/747076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/derriere_le_miroir/pseuds/derriere_le_miroir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <br/>
    <em>cog′nitive dis′sonance</em>
    <br/>
    <em>n.</em>
    <br/>
    <em>anxiety that results from simultaneously holding contradictory or incompatible attitudes, beliefs, or the like, as when one likes a person but disapproves of one of his or her habits.</em>
    <br/>
  </p>
</blockquote><br/>Collection of various untitled one-shots I've written for a MGS/DXHR crossover AU. Big Boss/Adam Jensen centric, some explicit sex scenes. Neither in chronological order nor connected; each story stands for itself.
            </blockquote>





	1. On Fixing Things

He often unwinded by taking apart and fixing back up antique clocks, Jack came to realize after a certain time. Given that one of his own hobbies was of similar nature, he didn't find it particularly odd, but still interesting enough to warrant further observation.

Slowly and meticulously, every part, no matter how small, was removed with delicate care and placed aside, usually next to some hastily scribbled yet clean sketch which demonstrated how the mechanism worked; an interwoven network of cogs and gears that, upon closer inspection, showed exactly what made this mechanical piece figuratively and literally tick. Jack remembered the first time he had taken apart a gun, trying to understand which part does what and how they were all connected, and how long it had taken him to properly reassemble them—he'd grown so frustrated and impatient after a couple of tries he almost ended up shooting himself in the hand when the gun finally _did_ decide to work.

_Jack_ , Boss had chided him, long ago, _you need to treat your weapons with care. They're an extension of yourself; if you don't know how to handle them, they will turn against you._

Back then, he didn't really understand what she was trying to tell him, and his mentor often liked to be vague and cryptic, right until the end. As more and more time passed, though, the more he felt like the pieces finally came together, interlocking, meshing. While he reached for his can of beer Adam reached for a clockhand to put it back into its place, and it hadn't been difficult to figure out that the man had liked to work with his hands even before they had been taken from him. Were he more mean-spirited, he would've asked him how come he was so good at fixing things back up, considering how much he excelled at destroying them. He'd watched him often enough, sometimes with slight disgust, because there were shades of violence he found distasteful.

It was probably the machinery. Adam's own gave a soft, persistent whir as it moved, so naturally Jack would have had a hard time telling the prosthetics apart from real hands had they the color and texture of skin.

"Think you can fix it?"

"With the spare parts I got," came the reply, without him looking up, though it was hard to tell. Jack, himself, was watching his hands like they were parasites, sleek and glistening and perpetuating the illusion of oozing and being covered in oil, and he wondered for a moment what they looked like covered in blood; crisp, vibrant red against the darkest kind of black he'd ever seen.

He should be used to it by now, and yet he found himself staring time and time again. He could not quite comprehend the level of control the other man was able to exert over frameworks of polymer and metal—very advanced frameworks, granted—fused to what remained of his body, endowed with so much destructive power other people would never be able to achieve even after years and decades of grueling training.

When resentment began to creep up within him and color his thoughts, he reminded himself that there had not been a choice. Could've been in his place, and what then—cut off his own limbs, and continue life as a cripple?

He was way too pragmatic for that. There was a difference between losing an eye and losing _everything else_ , and survival, no matter how painful, was what mattered most.

The clock went live, if only for a few measured seconds. Reading Adam's expression was hard as long as he was making use of those implanted sunglasses of his, but Jack could easily guess that some part had apparently been too loose, because the man sitting at the table began to unscrew the back plate again, only to disassemble the clock once more, rip out its innards with great care, and start over.

There was no complaint coming from him; not even something so subtle as a sigh or a grunt. Must be cathartic. Jack took a sip.

"That interesting?"

"Not the clock."

Adam didn't pause, but yet silence lingered for a couple seconds. They should both be used to this by now.

"Don't you have anything else to do—ordering people around and getting on their nerves, you know, the usual."

Tools, weapons, extensions of himself. Some of them made of flesh, others made of steel, and Jack had learned to take great care of all which he considered his.

_Fixing them back up takes time. You will get better at it, eventually, but still each one is different, and the mechanisms may vary. Study them carefully, lest you shoot yourself in the foot._

"You mean looking after them," he said, tone equal parts patient and indulgent, and placed down his can. "Who says I'm not doing that that right now."

Banter didn't seem to be on Adam's agenda for today, so he seemingly decided to let it go with a somewhat exasperated sigh, concentrating on his self-imposed task, but that didn't mean that the same could be said for Jack. To the contrary.

"I was wondering," he began again, shifting his weight against the table which creaked quietly in response, "When was the last time they touched something that wasn't made of metal."

Adam's prosthetic, spidery fingers stopped moving for a second. Reading artificial muscles was hard, but Jack could see that his shoulders were tense.

"If there's a 'last time' at all, that is."

"Yeah, I don't think that's any of your business, _Captain_." There was a slight drawl to his baritone voice Jack found amusing, although his expression didn't slip, at least not what he could see of it. Somehow he doubted that the implications and the underlying offer had flown right over his head, he was too smart for that, but there's that kind of Adam and _this_ kind of Adam, who did not easily give into temptation, not even when faced with a snake.

Abruptly, Jack leaned forward to reach for one of the implanted rims around Adam's eyes, pressing the button, and it was so sudden that even with his augmented reflexes Adam could not swat his hand away in time. A hiss escaped from slightly parted lips, and lenses slid back into his skull, revealing a perfectly pissed off scowl that embedded obviously artifical eyes, which just prompted Jack to grin smugly.

"That's the most expressive I've seen you all week. Look at that."

"Piss off."

_Keep going._ Riling him up was like playing with fire, hot and dangerous, but how often had he been tempted himself to provoke a fight one of them wouldn't survive only for the thrill of it? This guy was brimming with technology created to kill and destroy, and most of it could be set off with a single thought. Adam knew that, and Jack knew that he knew, which is why ultimately, he wasn't in serious danger for even a moment.

Loss of control was an inherent fear of most men of their kind. Jack respected that there was a line not to be crossed, and he never brought a cattle prod or stun knife into one of their sparring matches for that very reason.

Tasering him with words though was fair game. By now, it didn't look like Adam was going to continue unwinding as long as the older man was in the room.

"I decide what's my business, for the record. Besides, it was just a question."

"You never asked a question." Adam impulsively shoved his chair back and stood, considering that the end of their conversation, and left. Some clock pieces fell off the table and hit the ground in the process. Jack followed, only mildly annoyed.

"Should I rephrase? How's this—I wouldn't mind fucking. Sound good?"

"I don't swing that way," came the flat, unimpressed reply, and Jack retorted in the same tone.

"I know that's not the reason why you are being so god damn defensive." He knew why. He couldn't blame him, but he wasn't about to back off now. It wasn't exactly pity—just an innate, if not morbid kind of curiosity he couldn't quite place.

"Unless they got the part between your legs, too."

That earned him the other man's attention and a fist to the face he just _barely_ dodged, and hell, he was glad for it. Those actually hurt, but so far, that had been the only kind of physical contact to be established between them.

"Are you _done_?" A snarl. Getting there.

_First, you gotta take them apart, and remember every detail._

"Do you really think you can afford to be picky? Or maybe you just cannot stand the sight of a man who still has everything you've lost yourself. You're a damn coward, and I'm tired of people telling me that they needed to replace your mirror _again_. I am not—"

He paused as he watched Adam turn away from him and saunter over into the kitchen, no longer paying any attention to him, apparently. Once more, Jack followed him with a brief, disgruntled growl. Patient. He needed to be patient.

"Hey. Are you even listening to me?"

_Then, you fix them back up, but you have to be delicate about it. If you aren't_ —

There was the sound of something incredibly heavy and clunky being shuffled around, and next thing he knew, it came flying right at him, turning out to be the fridge at closer, unintentional, _painful_ inspection.

_But I don't need to tell you that, do I?_

* * *

There weren't many things that would cause him to experience a severe case of disorientation on top of a headache that would inevitably begin to blossom once it was his turn to unwind. For as long as Jack worked—and some part of his considered this work—pain was usually on the backburner and barely even registered, even if it was there.

It was nothing short of hilarious to even try and process what had just happened, while he felt himself being relocated, or rather, dragged around like a ragdoll, unable to put up much of a resistance for the few precious moments he needed to collect himself. He'd had giant robots try and step on him, and dinosaur-like creatures threatening to make him their dinner, but he was pretty sure this had been the first time somebody hurled a god damn fridge at him, of all things. Usually he was a proponent of unconvential and occasionally dirty tactics, but in this case, he didn't really know what to say or think. Not that he was able to do either.

Except that this was not at all going how he had imagined it, and he hated things not going his way probably just as much as Adam did. Who was sitting on him now, after Jack's back hit something that was not nearly as hard as he would have expected with a grunt. Jack blinked up at him through his current haze, and the moment he opened his mouth, his throat was caught in a steel grip—as was his wrist, when his hand sprang up instinctively in self-defense.

He wasn't sure where this was going. If Adam had wanted to shut him up, he'd found an effective way of doing so by cutting off his oxygen supply altogether and tightening his grasp around his windpipe to the point of almost crushing it. Jack's other hand, the one that currently wasn't a numb victim to the unnatural strength on top of him, punched Adam repeatedly in the ribs to signal him to stop. His own fight or flight instincts were about to kick in, and once they did, things would turn ugly. What was left of his rationality tried to prevent a scenario like that, and he could only hope that the same applied to the other man, no matter how pissed off he was right now, and probably rightfully so. His quietly intense gaze spoke volumes.

Would've lied to himself if he said there wasn't a certain allure to him pushing back this hard, though. He could appreciate a man who did not tolerate his bullshit and was able to keep up with him, even if it wasn't entirely _fair_ , but life rarely was.

He did stop, eventually. Jack knew he was lucky that Adam had spent months on practicing the exertion of pressure, even if he got the impression his calibrations weren't fully completed yet when it came to human beings, which was probably the only reason why he stopped sooner rather than later.

The fine tuning. He'd wanted to work on that, masochist that he was, and Adam could not stand the thought of being looked at like some sort of robot that still needed to be programmed. Jack wheezed and coughed when Adam finally leaned back and took his own weight off him, and when he finally had enough breath to speak again, his voice sounded even more raspy than usual.

"Not the ideal position for us, I find."

Adam scoffed. "You still think this is happening."

Jack pulled himself up into more of a sitting position, touching his own aching throat, the marks left were probably painfully visible—and looked around.

"Well," he said. "Pretty sure I didn't drag myself into bed." Explained why his landing had been so soft before, but not really a certain someone's intentions. Jack cast him a sidelong glance.

"To prove a point."

He arched a brow. _Really?_

"Your point being that by hurling a fridge at my head and almost choking me to death, you can get on top of me? Is that it?" Jack rubbed the side of his still hurting head with one hand. "Wasn't aware that's how you wanted to play it."

"Look," Adam grit his reply out, slowly shifting off the bed. "Whatever you do in your freetime and with who, that's up to you—I don't care. But I'd really appreciate it if you didn't involve me."

It went ignored. "When was the last time you masturbated?"

" _Snake._ " Most men, while in the company of other men, don't have much of a problem talking and bragging about their personal exploits. That Adam so persistently chose to ignore his questions told Jack everything he needed to know.

"You proved your point," Jack said, tone acknowledging instead of belittling this time. "Let me prove mine." He grabbed one metallic wrist, in a last attempt at preventing Adam from leaving. Jack could hardly force him to stay and give it a go, but he'd consider it a personal failure on his part if he didn't manage to convince and give him something he'd had to abstain for way too long, he was sure.

That, and he wasn't used to having to throw himself at people like this. Usually it was the other way around, and it just served to spur him on further for some reason—he didn't want to say his pride was at stake here because he wasn't one to take a rejection from a straight man as personal offense.

But something told him that, even if he had different equipment, Adam would still not be very willing to expose his own.

Adam paused, and even from this angle Jack could tell he was torn between wanting to give in and stubbornly walking away for good—and probably not talking to him for a week or so. He was good at holding grudges.

"I'm not sure I want to know what your point is," Adam said, eventually, and didn't shove Jack away when he grabbed his shirt by its hem and nonchalantly pulled it over his head.

"It's a good one," Jack replied. Adam placed his hands against some very broad shoulders, running them down the upper arms, and for the first time it seemed like he didn't really know what to do and how to operate in this situation. In the past, moving with and against another person had been all instinct, all natural—now every motion of his was full of doubt and carefully calculated. "For you," he spat, and his discomfort was audible. If Jack didn't ease it soon, he'd slip out of his grasp once more.

He knew his own body and had mastered his control over it in almost any situation, no matter how dire or demanding. Right now he was forcing one on Adam that was new and way too unpredictable, and that, he supposed, was ultimately what had him so worried.

"I know exactly what's going through your head."

It was Adam who said this, tersely, enduring calloused, warm, living hands touching his body; one of them being dragged down his shoulder to settle at the place where it connected with flexible polymer, feeling out the connection and difference in texture and temperature.

"What does," Jack said, absentmindedly. As often as he had seen these things in action, he'd never really gotten to touch them, and it was most curious to run his palm down lightweight metal and other material imitating muscle, fingering one of those orange ejection holes for the Typhoon, knowing that Adam would feel very little of it, and what he felt of it was probably synthetic, too, in a way he'd never be able to comprehend.

"How much you love your guns. You honestly think I don't get what this is really about."

"Don't be stupid."

Stupid, but probably right. When faced with a man that was physically part machine, and one that was built to destroy—even against his will—it was difficult not to think of him as a weapon with a conscience. Jack considered himself much the same, a well-oiled, flesh and blood machine shaped by the times. A gun. He'd accepted that. The importance laid in who pulled the trigger.

Adam looked about ready to give another retort, brow furrowed—Jack had figured out early on that all his expression was in his eyes, and he was infinitely more attractive when he didn't hide them—and lips only slightly parted, but this time, it was his turn to shut him up rather aggressively. To his own surprise, the other man complied and opened his mouth to grant him access, tilting his head to the side.

It was preferable to arguing about a subject that could easily be twisted into something personal and hurtful, even Adam must have realized that. The kiss was hot and messy and one Jack would have simultanously expected and _not_ expected to share with a guy like him; primal, greedy, and with the typical aftertaste of nicotine. When they separated, he looked into a pair of unusually bright green eyes—funny that there should only be a single healthy one between the two of them.

"You've done this before." _With a man_ , he meant without outright saying it. Adam seemed to finally know what he wanted to do with his arms, and placed one of them around Jack's neck, which served to maintain the closeness for another moment. Still tasting him, it was then that it occurred to him that Adam had once told him, with a shrug, that he didn't smoke because he enjoyed it—not anymore. It was just a way of occupying his hands, of training his fine motor skills, and reminding himself that it wasn't even up to him anymore to inflict damage on his own body. Self-destruction was only fun when it had a lasting effect. _I can't even remember what it's like to have a cold._

"Once or twice," the younger man eventually replied, giving a straight answer for once without dodging the question. Somehow, Jack wasn't surprised, but he decided to prod and mock anyway.

"Thought you don't swing 'that way'."

His tone and expression were deadpan. "Right. Not really into cross-species intercourse."

"Very funny."

"I know."

Jack pushed for another kiss, and for Adam to lay back at the same time. He didn't resist, and inwardly, Jack heaved a sigh of relief for finally getting to this point, even if he could not let his guard down yet or allow himself to be careless. Some people were so difficult and stubborn, and the man under him was perhaps one of the worst in that regard.

But that was exactly what made every small victory so rewarding. Adam began to push back, if only with his tongue sliding over and against another, a battle for dominance taken to a much smaller scale. He wasn't bad at this at all, and before long, the rest of his mind and body were ready to follow the notion of physical pleasure play. Jack, also, stopped thinking too deeply about what they were doing, which was perhaps a mistake—his hips swayed notably to the side when something cold had suddenly found its way beneath his shirt, touching his stomach. It took him a few seconds to identify it as a hand, much to his own dismay—but it was removed immediately upon being caught.

Blindly and with quiet determination, he felt for the prosthetic, placing it right back at his own abs and holding it there for a few seconds. It was, hopefully, a gesture that would say much more than words ever could. With slight hesitation, Adam's fingers began to trace lines of muscle and scarred tissue; it seemed to demand most of his attention since his tongue and lips grew tired and unresponsive. Jack lazily licked over his lips once, breath hot against them, then leaned his head back an inch.

"Take it off," Adam demanded, voice hoarse, gaze half-lidded. Jack had no objections, and, sitting up, he pulled his own white shirt over his head, tossing it aside.

Both of them took a certain amount of time for themselves to examine the other—with eyes and hands. Adam propped himself up on an elbow, reaching for Jack's biceps and applying a certain, almost painful amount of pressure to it and everywhere else when he dragged his prosthetic fingers down his toned chest. Jack said nothing; he knew that was probably the only way for him to feel anything, and he himself wasn't exactly fragile.

"Hn."

Neither was Adam, as stitched together as he looked with his patchwork body—outright grotesque, but at the same time he couldn't deny a certain elegance in the design, and he had yet to find a fitting word when it came to its functionality. _Outstanding_ didn't quite cut it, even if you considered at what price all of this came. He could imagine what he must have looked like, before being turned into what he was now.

There was more admiration than there was resentment, if Jack was completely honest with himself. And curiosity. He touched him back—the metal bars sunk under his chest and sticking out of him, the ports, his arms; everything that kept him from coming apart at the seams.

"That interesting," Adam remarked, after a while. Jack couldn't help but smile.

"Just trying to figure out how you work."

"Not much to figure out." He arched his hips until he could subtly grind a certain bulge against a thigh. So that part was still there and functional as well—right. Still a man.

Jack pushed his waist back down to the mattress, but that hand immediately settled between his legs, squeezing him tightly through the fabric of his pants. Adam answered with a pleased grunt, rocking into his palm—slowly at first, but gradually harder and faster. It was painfully obvious that he hadn't seen much action down there in a long while. Jack removed his hand, but before Adam could protest, he proceeded to routinely work open his pants, which was surely in his best interest.

Jack's hand slipped inside, and Adam simultaneously reached for his neck, pulling him down and over himself. All the indisposition towards this whole affair seemed to have dissolved in a matter of seconds.

"My point," Jack said with a grin, after being forced to indulge in another hungry kiss that was all teeth and tongue, "I think we've found it." His fingers had curled around a half-hard cock, slick with precome, giving it a playful squeeze. The very next second he a feral growl emerged from his throat when Adam's fingers violently pulled at a fistful of hair, nearly hard enough to rip them out. "Work it," he hissed, under his own breath heavy with barely suppressed desire.

"Jesus." He relented. Started pumping, shoving his hand back and forth, while Adam's thighs automatically drifted further apart, his grasp around Jack's neck and shoulders an unyielding strangehold, instilling the very distant fear in him that the second he stopped, he'd snap his neck for real, or worse. The proverbial blade against his throat.

Well, he'd started it, so he really had no one to blame but himself.

Adam was concentrating hard on keeping his own breath shallow and steady, trying to maintain a semblance of control. Jack had no doubt that as much as the flesh he had left enjoyed the lavish attention, another part of him hated how there was a man who could do this to him; peeling off layer after layer of self-control, carefully crafted apathy and mechanical precision he'd worked so hard to maintain.

In the end, that was exactly the point. Jack's grip tightened, his pace quickened, and he quietly enjoyed Adam's struggle to keep eye contact.

"You know," Jack said, hand still moving relentlessly and producing a slew of incredibly wet and vulgar, if muffled sounds, thanks to the fabric, "I'm not actually that selfless."

Unsurprisingly, Adam didn't even offer a handjob in turn, and he seriously doubted he'd be all too willing to put his mouth to good use, either. Adam narrowed his eyes at him, but Jack didn't say anything else. Not as long as he was caught in his grasp, but he'd wriggle out of it—now.

With a well-aimed punch into his gut—thankfully not between the legs, at least. Adam automatically let go with a gasp, swinging a punch right back while swearing loudly, but it missed. He fell right back into the sheets when Jack violently yanked his pants and boxers down, and in the heat of the moment neither of them could really worry too much about the legs which were the only part of him that not even remotely resembled something human.

"Son of a—ugh."

"Work it, he says," the other man mocked, using his entire weight—and strength—keeping Adam pinned to the mattress by his wrists, exerting all the force he was capable of because he knew that he wouldn't even feel it. "I'm gonna work you all right."

"Don't even _think_ about it."

"Or what? You gonna explode in my face? Slit my throat with those blades of yours?"

He could _hear_ Adam gnash his teeth, glowering at him. He was going to do no such thing no matter how easy it would be; for all the differences and arguments they often had, actually attempting to kill him would mean the loss of whatever self-control remained.

"You're a fucking ass," he drawled. Simple and to the point.

"Look who's talking," was the immediate response, preceding a bruising kiss consisting of teeth catching lips, biting down hard enough to draw some drops of blood, and the metallic taste was strangely fitting, Jack found.

Now they were _really_ getting somewhere.

Jack was rearranging Adam's wrists above his head so he could hold onto both of them with just one hand, but Adam struggled weakly—consciously so. "Let go," he grunted, voice still gruff but notably subdued, probably to let him know that _yes, you're gonna have it your way._ Like he ever had a choice in the matter. Jack hesitated for a moment, but realized that if Adam wanted to free himself and abort the whole thing, he'd be able to do so whether or not Jack was restraining him.

Not that he wouldn't give him hell for it. Adam was exceptionally good at harassing people but when others did the same to him, he immediately turned into either a petulant brat, or a cantankerous old man, depending on his current mood and predisposition.

He was easily able to occupy his hands in other ways. For one, his own pants were starting to feel uncomfortably tight, so he unbuckled the belt and opened the fly. He saw Adam briefly crane his neck to catch sight of that, giving a groan that could best be described as _agonized_. It was rather comical, considering nothing had exactly been revealed yet.

"You'll thank me later for actually feeling sore for once."

"I'm sure of it."

The sarcasm wasn't lost on him, but ignored all the same. Jack considered him, wiping over his own chin with the back of his hand to get rid of spit and lingering traces of blood.

"Spread your legs," he said. He'd closed them sometime during his whole ordeal, unsurprisingly. His demand was met with silence and little else.

"Did I stutter?"

Adam growled, and did as he was told. Following orders wasn't his strong point, but nontheless he responded particularly well to the authoritative tone. It always got a reaction—positive or negative. Jack shifted closer, spit on two of his fingers, and shoved them right up where they were needed—hard and suddenly. The other man gave a sound somewhere between a guttural growl and a surprised yelp, _uncomfortably_ shifting a few inches up the mattress and closer to the headboard, reaching for both of Jack's arms at the same time, properly conflicted about whether he wanted to hold onto them or rip them off.

In the end, all Jack had to endure were the numbingly hard grip his fingers had on him, and he knew he'd feel whatever body part they'd still come to touch this night for a very long time. They were both going to be sore after this.

"Your ass isn't augmented, I see," he managed to quip, with no audible strain, fingers moving, stretching, preparing. Adam kept squirming, however subtly, trying to escape even if there was little point to it.

_"Very funny_ ," he threw Jack's own words at him, in the same tone, and continued right on because talking did distract from what was going on down there, at least.

"How is this—fair at all?" He voiced his gripe, which was met with a brief and gentle rumble of a laugh.

"You threw a _fridge_ at my _head_. I'm not looking forward to the headache."

"So? You got a thick skull. That, hn, doesn't give your cock a free pass into my—you're not even listening."

If Jack lowering himself down on top of Adam was any indication; his own body grinding against his as he finally removed his fingers, curling them around his own cock to line its head up with his ass, and Adam's cybernetic legs pressed hard against Jack's waist as he instinctively tried to close his thighs, which, of course, was quite difficult now.

"I'm sorry, did you say something?"

"Fucking bas--" He trailed off into a sound that a wounded dog would make. As expected, his artificial arms were quick to claim hold of Jack's shoulders again, tightly wrapped around and scratching across his back, and this time, it was painful enough to warrant an audible response in form of a confused but acknowledging growl.

"Bastard," Jack was kind enough to end the sentence Adam couldn't quite finish, and pushed his hips forward. "Takes one to know one." His back hurt, thanks to the steel marking it, and he was suddenly all too aware of what could go wrong—there were a bunch of invisible triggers and setting even one of them off could quickly turn this into a mess.

That knowledge did the exact opposite of turning him off, though.

"Shitfuck—Jesus," he heard the man below him swear quietly as he ground into him with moderate force, and couldn't help but find him being so vocal and using that kind of language strangely endearing. He rarely did.

"Put your damn hand back between my legs."

He guessed he could do that much, at least; relocating one of his hands down between their bodies to firmly grasp his dick, although there was barely any space to move it. Didn't help that Adam kept arching against his abs and stomach, trying to get more of that friction that would make all of this a little more bearable. Perhaps even worth it.

Jack was sure he hadn't felt his own body that consciously in a long while.

"Relax. You've gone through worse."

"Speak for yourself!" He spat, and immediately lowered the volume of his voice to give it an edge of resentment Jack didn't take offense to. "Did you ever get fucked in the ass."

"Nope. You had your chance to try and change that earlier."

Adam wouldn't kill him with any of his weapons that night, but he sure tried to do so with looks. Needless to say he wasn't successful, and neither he nor Jack had much else to say—nor the capacities to do so. After a while, Adam had adjusted to the intrusion and was able to accommodate him better, granting the other man the opportunity to get a little more rough with him—certainly, knowing that he couldn't really inflict any lasting damage on him helped lowering his inhibitions further, and the harder he slammed into him, the more it seemed to reflect back on him, as Adam's arms never grew tired and just tightened their almost crushing grasp on him. Jack's hand, however, did, and if he truly felt sorry about anything, it was that.

"You close, Adam?"

The answer consisted of a series of unintelligible groans and gasps right next to his ear, as well as something he couldn't quite place—sounded kinda like a rebreather.

...Maybe.

He didn't comment on that. He was probably struggling with more than just the burning pain of having a dick repeatedly and forcefully shoved up your ass.

"In a few," he eventually managed, voice gravelly and gritty. Jack gave a drawn out, grunted sigh, slowing down to keep himself from spilling too soon. At least he wasn't dead yet, that was something, and listening to Adam losing all coherence the closer he came to his own orgasm had definitely been worth all the trouble—subdued, barely audible pleas of _more_ and use of the proper title _Boss_ instead of various insults, spoken with all the urgency and need of someone who desperately clung to people for direction, with their entire being, from the very core.

It was exactly what he was here for. _Now put it back together, and add whatever improvements you came up with._

* * *

 

_"You do this often?"_

_It's raining. Has been intermittently for days, but settling down in places with sunnier climes isn't exactly an option they can afford to consider anymore._

_Or a good brand of coffee. He keeps stirring his beverage when Adam approaches him, seeking shelter in a chopper while he himself is drenched, running around in the rain when he didn't even have to. Looks like he has beef about something, like so often, and Big Boss gives an unheard sigh. The weather is forcing both of them to increase their voices in volume to carry out something akin to a conversation._

_"Aren't you supposed to be with the CS squad?"_

_"Answer my question."_

_"Maybe if I knew what you were asking about in the first place."_

_"Try 'unconventional recruitment methods.'"_

_"Like fishing people out of the ocean, you mean?"_

_"I'm not talking about myself." Big Boss knows he really means that he doesn't want to talk about himself, or something he had no control over in the first place. He's too focused on finding answers from himself first before making a judgment call, which is not a bad quality to have._

_"Well," he replies, and goes back to stirring his coffee, saying nothing else. It's probably cold by now. A strong gust of wind causes Adam to hold tighter onto his own coat—it's not even his—and step closer to the vehicle without climbing inside it, probably because of his own pride._

_"Well what?" He almost yells. As he finally takes a sip from his mug, Big Boss considers sending him away, and subtly feels for the stun knife strapped to his ankle._

_Ultimately, he decides to humor him._

_"What do you want to hear? We're nomads, Adam. We flock together to make up for the home we lack, and when society doesn't want someone, we welcome them with open arms. You've seen how many people get left behind." Himself included. "You haven't heard anyone complain past the initial resistance, have you?"_

_"So you're scooping them up before they can get crushed, huh," Adam gives a brief, disparaging chuckle, placing a hand against the chopper to lean against it. "Truly an act of benevolence."_

_"Nothing so grand. I just don't like to see people die for no good reason."_

_"But dying for you is a good reason?"_

_"For some," says Big Boss, trivially._

_For a while, there is silence, although the Australian coastal storm continues to rage on, bless global warming. Big Boss feels Adam's piercing gaze, and slightly raises his own. His expression is hard to decipher, but from the corner of his vision, he notes that one of his fists is clenched._

_"You're not quite right in the head, are you."_

_"Excuse me?" The older man snorts a laugh, and he's not even sure why._

_"Oh, sorry, my mistake—maybe I should've said delusional, or absolutely fucking batshit insane. The_ last _thing you should be is_ in charge of other people _."_

_"I'm not surprised that this is coming from you," he keeps his tone level, not raising it to be louder than it has to be, as opposed to Adam's terse one, and in his own infinite mercy, he tells himself, he is going to let this slide. It's the first time he's heard this from anyone, and he's not sure what to make of it. "It's not something you would understand. Not after such a short time."_

_It's been such a long time._

_"And I hope I never will," Adam snarls, turning on his heel. Big Boss watches him trudge through the mud, then he slowly shakes his head, empties his mug of coffee outside the chopper and fishes for his cigar case._

* * *

It took him a couple of tries to light it, thanks to an antique zippo that frequently and stubbornly refused to work. But eventually he was able to inhale the poison he craved and loved so much, wiping his hand clean on the sheets a second time. He was sitting at the edge of the bed, slightly hunched, his back freshly bruised, some patches of skin such a deep shade of red it almost looked someone's grip had been burned into it. The man responsible for it was laying behind him, on his stomach. Voluntarily.

Tit for tat, Jack supposed. Adam was breathing softly, and when Jack exhaled and looked over his shoulder, he could see that his eyes were open, if visibly tired. He averted his own gaze when it found white contrasting against black as it was trailing down his body. He thought back to the events that had lead to all of this, to guns in the shape of humans, half-gutted clockworks, and precious time and opportunities lost.

"Is there an expiration date?" He asked, the first words to be spoken since their previous encounter had reached its climax. He could feel the phantom of a headache looming in the back of his head, waiting for the right moment to strike. The uncomfortable prickle was already there.

Adam gave a vague grunt, and Jack knew it was the short version of _don't know what the hell you mean._

"For," he paused, searching for the right word, but there was none. "You."

He felt weight shift on the mattress as Adam decided he'd done enough laying around for one day, pushing himself into a sitting position. There was the beginning of a groan in his throat, Jack could tell, but he quickly swallowed it down.

"I don't know," he said. "Could ask you the same."

"I'm not going to be walking junk one day."

"You already are junk," Adam said, brutally honest, cutting deep with words instead of blades. Jack closed his mouth again after having opened it, unwittingly allowing Adam to continue. "And too broken to fix anything. That's not your purpose, anyway. Not mine either."

Jack felt one of his moderately cold hands on an aching shoulder, turning him around by it, while the other plucked the cigar from his lips—he slightly tilted his head, waiting for something that never came when Adam gracefully swung his mechanical legs over the edge of the bed to stand. As much as his backside might have been hurting still, none of his prosthetics were trembling notably.

Back in control, as if he'd never lost it.

"They fix themselves."

As so often, Adam left Jack right where he was, but not without briefly gesturing _thanks_ with and for the cigar before placing it between his own lips. Still completely naked, he went right back to his working table, past the fridge that had served as a throwing object earlier.

And as so often, Jack followed, only to witness him going right back to work, as if nothing of much importance had happened since losing several layers of clothes. Though perhaps work wasn't the right expression—back to _unwinding_ , by fixing something that had already served its purpose and was long overdue for better replacement.

The things people kept anyway, for sentimental value.

"You're not joining me in the shower?" Jack said, standing in the doorframe.

"No," Adam replied, without looking at him. Judging by the delay and the slow and minuscule amount of movement of his fingers, he'd found the faulty piece of machinery from earlier. "I might short-circuit. Wouldn't want to do that to you."

Jack snorted at the obviously lame attempt at humor. "I've endured worse."

"I'm sure you have." It didn't matter.

"And for the future, you might want to drop the sass."

"Or else?" He didn't sound particularly impressed, just dismissive, and like he just replied so Jack would leave him alone sooner rather than later. "Your answer is going to rhyme and include 'ass', isn't it."

"Maybe. You got a fortuneteller aug?" Jack swerved to the side when he had to dodge a still smoldering cigar being flicked into his direction.

" _Get out_."


	2. On Giving Up Control

They had this unwritten rule.

Jack pushed him, always—or rather, Big Boss did. Over the years, the man had learned to craft two distinct, yet closely connected personas for himself, which, as Adam understood it, were rooted in a past rife with betrayal and too many burdens placed on his shoulders. Big Boss was all about expectations—those he had of other people, and the hopes and wishes those people had of him. He acted accordingly, and was rewarded with well deserved and unwavering loyalty and love he soaked up greedily, because he knew he was, and would always be, a good soldier.

He didn't think he was a good man, and Adam knew that no matter how many people he collected in this life, he had no love left for himself. It all died on a certain day when fate decided that being a soldier was more important than being a man, and so, he must have concluded, it would be the only side of him people could come to love, over time, and where he would find comfort.

So he pushed, and demanded, and controlled. He was neither overly cruel nor gentle, and it was never up for debate that he cared more about his followers than he cared about himself; _pushing_ each one to their limits and beyond and elevating them as well as himself in the process.

Adam had seen him shape and bend people like a skilled artist would a sculpture, and his instruments were his voice, body, and sometimes a knife that he used like a brush, applying his own colors to others and instilling life in them. Adam had long since understood that he had ended up as a long-term project of his, and consciously and violently denied him any power over himself that went beyond simple and sensible orders. Each time he pushed, Adam pushed back ten times harder—though not always immediately.

So, they had this rule, and sometimes Adam wondered if it only existed because Jack was, at his very core, a glutton for punishment. When they were alone, and it was understood that this was just between the two of them, he allowed expectations to shift, and himself to be pushed over, because in the end, he was the one being used by others, and never the other way around.

He'd made it perfectly clear, the first time, that he wanted all of this—the blade nudging him and leaving fine red lines on his already scarred skin, testament to years of abuse. The rough hand in his shaggy hair, tugging at it and forcing him to accept someone else's will. He never complained.

Adam wheezed. Looking down at the mostly naked man currently on his knees and eagerly sucking him off while one of his blades poked into his ribs was surreal at best, outright unsettling at worst. Adam's other hand gripped tighter onto the edge of the table in his back, the only thing that provided balance and support.

Of course, the man still took pride in everything he did, and Adam had yet to witness him half-assing things. He alone decided how much he would break down, how much control he was willing to give up. He pushed his head back, against Adam's unrelenting grasp, to spit him out and look up.

"You could be a little bit more vocal," he griped. _Of all things_. Adam gave him a harsh tug, and Jack's answer to that was squeezing the base of his cock a little harder.

"Maybe you're just doing a piss-poor job of sucking me off," Adam suggested, casually. Jack's eye narrowed.

He had to make a competition out of everything. That fact was among the first things he'd learned about this man: he needed to excel at everything he did. No matter what, and thus his actions occasionally became easy to anticipate. Adam hit him with the flat, dull side of his extended blade, and Jack grunted, opening his mouth again.

He hadn't been doing a piss-poor job before, and he wasn't doing one now. Slowly but without hesitation, he slid his lips down his hard shaft, and Adam could feel his teeth grazing against the sensitive flesh, _purposefully_. He growled a warning. Jack just sucked him hard, and alternated between pumping him and teasing him with his tongue, running it down the length of his cock and then up again to lick at its head, precome flowing from it and being lapped up.

Got him to be more vocal, at least, even if the sounds Adam made weren't particularly appreciative right then, but he could hardly go through with stabbing him, no matter how tempting the thought was.

"You gonna fuck me?" Jack said, wet lips against an equally wet and swollen cock, flicking the tip of his tongue against it multiple times.

"That was the plan--" He trailed off into a groan when lips wrapped around him again, and the sensation of Jack's vibrating throat when he chuckled around his cock was a bit too much.

He did it all so casually, like an afterthought, but with an inherent passion that was hard to grasp, while all of his motions remained fluid and natural.

"I just hope I won't have to do all the work again," he said, pulling him out and giving his slick length a few good, rough tugs.

"Yeah? I distinctly remember you just immediately rolling over to _show me how it's done_."

Granted, he hadn't exactly complained back then and he didn't want to now, but of course a certain someone had to be smug and twist things around in his favor. Jack gave a laugh, and that was just the last straw for Adam and enough reason for him to kick him in the stomach, now that his cock wasn't being in immediate danger of being bitten off anymore. Jack responded with a grunt that was more surprised than painful, but in the end it meant nothing at all to Adam—he pulled him up by his shoulder, easily, and retracted his ceramic blade back into his arm, huffing.

"You are insufferable," said Adam, neatly bending the older man over the table, with much force and little remorse.

"I know," said Jack, tone devoid of any humor, and gave a long suffering moan when Adam's fingers dug deep into his skin, raking over his back, all ten of them, excruciatingly slow.

"I know."

This rule also said that anything, safe for long lasting and physically impairing damage, was fair game, and neither had any qualms about living out their masochistic or sadistic streaks, depending—for Adam, Jack's back, broad and muscled, was a favorite target. It was already adorned with a roadmap of scars, and over time he'd had the opportunity to add a couple of his own. This time, he didn't cut into the skin—good for him that he had no nails, he supposed—but he'd left red, deep marks anyway that wouldn't fade for a good long while, and neither would the pain that Jack felt from them.

But he welcomed that, because, to put it in his own words, _experiencing_ _pain is the only way to make sure you're still alive._ At the time, he had perceived it as a snide remark, referring to Adam's own inability to feel any sort of sensation that wasn't particularly necessary in his limbs. Pain was a liability, according to his creators. Jack liked to think otherwise.

Adam's hands eventually settled at his waist when he leaned down to the older man, feeling the muscles in his back tensing and the burning hot ache pulsing when he pressed his chest against it. He tried to push him down with his own weight, but Jack's hands were braced against the flat surface of the table.

Adam could tell Jack was uncomfortable with this position, his back turned, as he eyed him suspiciously over his shoulder, but too proud to say anything. Adam wouldn't start being considerate now. His arms wrapped around the other man, and one prosthetic hand found its way between his legs, cupping the sizeable bulge through his pants at the same time he pressed his lips to the other's ear.

"You can't let go, can you," he breathed, flicking his tongue at it. Jack shifted, subtly; neither really towards nor away from the touch, saying nothing. He didn't trust people enough to turn his back to them, not anymore.

"Unless I manage to convince you." Adam gave him a rough squeeze, and Jack let out a unintelligible, guttural sound that could mean everything or nothing. "Adam," he just said, tersely. The implications were not lost on him, and he just so happened to be very susceptible to that sort of thing, all his senses sharp and honed.

"Knock it off."

"Too late."

A growl, and he elbowed Adam sharp in the side, who wasn't very impressed by that and just quickly caught his wrist to twist it into a painful angle before making use of his augmented strength to suddenly and harshly nail the body beneath him to the table's surface.

Jack would beat him into oblivion for this, tomorrow, but it was worth it—and fair's fair.

"Boss," he hissed, and despite the violence just displayed—Jack was struggling, too—he managed to make his voice sound soft and gentle, all calculated. "You should let me take care of you. But for me to do that, you gotta trust me first. It's important."

"Hrrg..."

Words alone rarely could sway him, but combined with certain chemicals being released into the air, he was, at least, a lot more accessible and responsive. Adam still knew that he had to choose his words wisely, or his resistance would just flare up again, even though it was already beginning to wane. Couldn't blame him—nobody liked to have their mind messed with.

"Tell me," Adam continued, pinning the man's wrist to his lower back and leaning down to have his teeth graze the skin at his neck, placing soft bites. "Have I given you any reason to mistrust me, so far?"

"No," Jack said, through gritted teeth.

"Exactly. So relax. I know your body; what it likes and what it can handle."

Better than his own sometimes, Adam thought, a sad truth. Jack gave no verbal response, but he apparently took the suggestion to heart, most of the tension leaving his body and relaxing visibly under the other man. "Good," Adam commented, releasing his grip on him and relocating both his hands to the region between his thighs in order to work open his pants, quickly and precisely.

A gasp was to be heard when Adam's hands—both of them—wrapped around his cock, covering every inch of him, but just barely. Someone had been really generous with him when it came to _every_ aspect of his chiseled body, Adam had to admit, and he fought down the upcoming jealousy like he did so often when he was forced to look at the man without his clothes on. He gripped tighter. Judging by what little he could feel, he was already pretty damn hard.

"They're cold," said Jack, head resting against the table.

"They'll warm up in a minute." The hand at the base of his cock removed itself to cradle his balls instead, while the other began to slide up and down the length. Truth be told, he wasn't sure about--

"Easy," his boss groaned, thighs trembling.

"Sorry," murmured Adam, and let up on the pressure.

Everything else seemed to be just about right, though; the pace, the motions, because Jack was audibly enjoying himself. Under _normal_ circumstances, Adam was all too aware, he would fight to retain control of every fibre of his body, including his own vocal cords. Right now, he didn't seem to care much, not even with Adam at his back. After a while—after getting used to the feeling—he even began to rock his hips into the touch, and soon enough both his cock and Adam's hand were slick and glistening with precome.

His own erection was starting to wane, so Adam decided that this was a good time to move on; he hadn't originally planned to indulge the man _so much_ , anyway. Jack opened his mouth to protest when hands where removed, but all that came out was a grunt when he realized that his pants where being pulled down his thighs. He propped himself up on his elbows, and turned his head to look at Adam, who was wasting no time moving things along.

"Wait."

" _What._ " That came out harsher than intended, courtesy of his growing impatience. Fortunately, Jack seemed to ignore that.

"The table. I don't want it to break."

"Why would it break? I'm not--"

Oh. Jack tilted his head at him, slightly, expression blank. For a moment, he'd forgotten how demanding and insatiable the man could be.

Following that train of thought, though, the bed was probably not a good idea either.

"Suggestions?"

"Floor."

Well, at least when it came to some things Jack was refreshingly uncomplicated. He didn't need the comfort of a bed, and Adam supposed that comfort had never been a huge part of his life to begin with. He could fight anywhere. The same went for fucking. So they relocated to the floor, and Jack stepped out of his pants in the process, assuming a similar position as before, on all fours. Adam situated himself behind him, hands claiming his strong hips and shapely ass, rearranging him as he saw fit.

"Raw okay?"

"Sure."

... Really uncomplicated, and moreso than before. Adam shifted close enough to press his own cock against his cleft, sliding it up and down a few times to let him get used to the feeling and size, before finally lining it up with his asshole.

Jack pushed back, against him, before Adam had even started to enter him, effectively impaling himself on the whole length. "Christ," Adam growled, quickly making a grab for the man's waist and swallowing down an unexpected moan threatening to worm its way out of his throat.

It was too tight, and not nearly smooth enough. He began to doubt that this had been a good idea, but Jack, apparently, did not entertain similar thoughts.

"Hrrn," he grunted, their combined weight now almost solely resting on his own arms and legs.

"If I had known--"

"Less talking, Adam," Jack interrupted him, a slight strain audible. "More fucking."

Ironically, _less talking_ was just what he'd been hoping for, getting the other man to shut up and down for a while, and that seemed to have worked out just fine.

So his grip became more unrelenting, uncaring about how much pressure he exerted exactly, and began to fuck him in earnest. Jack moved against and with him, meeting each of his thrusts and subtly adjusting the angle each time to get the most out of every smack of flesh against flesh. But it was all still tame, still within normal parameters, and Adam fucked like a normal man would.

He focused on his muscles in his back and shoulders, the way they moved beneath the skin, tensing and contracting, letting them set an acceptable pace.

If Jack was in pain—and Adam had no doubt that he was—he was either really good at hiding it, or absorbing it. Or so Adam would have thought, until his arms buckled underneath him and his face hit the concrete floor, followed by something that sounded suspiciously like a sob that had been held in for too long, wrecking his entire body.

That...

"Jack—" Adam said, slowing down, but before he could stop completely the other man had already pushed himself up again, face no longer grinding against the floor, but even with all the movement currently going on Adam could see that his arms—his entire body, really—were trembling, maybe this was—

"Use them," he barked, and Adam didn't understand.

"What—?"

"Your augs. _Use them_."

Really. Adam slammed into him another time, harder this time, and Jack stubbornly bucked against him. He'd lie if he said he wasn't tempted to honor this request and make full use of the strength his augmented limbs granted him, but he wasn't sure if this already went against and beyond the _no lasting damage_ rule.

"Is that," _smack_ , "...an order," _smack_ , "Boss?"

" _Yes,_ " Jack growled, his rumbling voice reaching new depths.

Adam could not deny him. He paused in his ministrations, if only to roughly move Jack into a position that allowed him more leverage while pinning his shoulders down against the floor. It was necessary. He took a deep breath, lifting mental restrictions imposed on his own machinery.

The next time he thrust in was when Jack began to scream.

* * *

 

"I never asked for this," Adam lamented, again, for what felt like the dozenth time. "You did."

Jack's face was still buried in the pillow serving to stifle his own incessant whining; laying on the stomach on his own bed, unable to move, for the most part. At least he was still conscious, Adam thought—which was impressive in itself—but then again, he might be better off if he was _unconscious_.

A world of pain, indeed.

Again, he heard a muffled _Fuck!,_ and Adam sighed. Maybe it was best to leave him alone instead of trying to coddle him in a somewhat aloof way by patting his shoulder; he'd done his duty, after all.

"I guess I'm gonna have to come up with an excuse for you being unavailable tomorrow, let's see how creative I can get," Adam mused, pushing himself off the bed to head for the shower.

"Hemorrhoids?"

Amazing that someone still had enough momentum to throw a pillow so hard at his head that Adam almost tripped.


	3. On Recharging Batteries

"Glowing mushrooms do not recharge your bioenergy."

—Had he known, back then, what kind of discourse that simple statement would open, he would have probably kept his mouth shut and nodded along, as well. Or maybe he would have stopped right there, at least, had he bothered to pay any attention to the mildly scandalized looks he was getting— _you did not just call one of his stories into question._

Hindsight, 20/20.

"Your batteries," Big Boss said, patiently, regarding Adam with a frown. Only in passing did he notice that the rest of the class—well, inner circle of his lackeys, he liked to think—were quick about finishing up, pushing their chairs back and slinking out of the mess hall. Snake didn't seem to pay any mind to that.

_Hm?_

"And what makes you say that."

"Well, I'll be the last person to claim to understand much about science," Adam continued because he _didn't know better_ , "But even then I'm pretty sure that still doesn't make any sense. You'd have to be stupid to believe anything like that really works."

Wrong answer. The older man arched a brow, subtly, a slight drawl to his gravel voice.

"You eat candybars to recharge your energy."

"Energy bars," Adam corrected, leaning back and crossing his arms. "And that's different, anyway. I'm outfitted with a—"

" _Same thing_." He was tossed a small, square, yellow box before he could reply, and Adam rolled his eyes behind his lenses, unseen, after reading the label.

"I'm really enjoying these, but I've found they have no effect on my batteries. Delicious, though."

"...They're diet cookies. Snake." Poignant pause, although Adam somehow manages to keep his tone level, despite slowly but surely getting fed up with this conversation. "And _no_ , that's not the same thing. If you want to recharge your batteries, you'll have to do it the traditional way, or switch them out for new ones."

He decided to tear open the package he'd been given as well as the plastic wrapper of one of the block-shaped things to try it, anyway—to compensate for all his troubles, of course. Pretty dry and stale, and the smell and taste distinctly reminded him of dog biscuits.

_Gross._

" _Or_ I could find myself some Russian glowcaps and eat them."

Adam was sort of glad that he couldn't give a kneejerk reply, thanks to the bite he still had to swallow. _Russia, huh._

"Right. Believe what you want." He'd also heard the Santa stories, but that was really _out there_ , even for him. "Russia's a long way from here." He stuffed the rest of the biscuit back into the little box, intending to leave it there and wash down the bad aftertaste with some scotch. He saw Big Boss furrow his brow and drum his fingers against the flat surface of the table from the corner of his artificial retina.

He didn't look like he was letting this one go yet, and unfortunately Adam wasn't the type to even _pretend_ he'd believe a story that reeks of bullshit and idiocy.

"So in other words, you require concrete proof."

Suddenly it dawned on him why everyone else had left the room, earlier. There was a crinkle in Big Boss's lone blue eye, and the faintest hint of a smirk. Adam instinctively opened his mouth to protest.

"You're not taking me to—"

* * *

 

He took him to a dark, damp cave in the middle of god-knows-where the very next day.

So now they were wandering around somewhere in the Russian jungle, with little—if any—direction. He spent the majority of his time getting here (that is, _hours_ ) musing about how this was the most ridiculous, _childish_ man he's ever met and _is_ going to meet in his life, quietly cursing at himself for ever having contested one of his outrageous claims just because he was so sure to be the right and sane one, here.

His train of thought was interrupted a few times when he bumped into the other man, following close behind, having run out of bioelectric energy to activate his Smart Vision—and Snake, of course, had only bothered to bring one set of NVGs; which mean that Adam had to rely mostly on the radar in the bottom left corner of his vision.

But even that one was hard to make out in this darkness, much to his own dismay.

"Quit it," Snake gruffed the next time it happened, elbowing him sharply between his ribs, and Adam grunted in response.

" _Pardon me_ , your highness; I just so happen to have a hard time making out anything without night vision."

That would have been a useful feature, come to think of it. Maybe he should have suggested that one to Sarif.

"Yeah? Well it might already help if you didn't walk around a dark place with your _sunglasses still on_."

He would have loved to make a quip along the lines _at least I'm not half blind,_ but considering Snake did have the technology he was lacking this time, he might end up shooting himself in the foot, so he settled for a much simpler if petulant, "I didn't want to fucking come here _in the first place_. At least turn on a flashlight or something, Christ."

"What, don't have a built-in lighter in those hands of yours? You know I once knew a guy—"

" _Snake_."

"No. Quit whining."

Adam gave an exasperated sigh trailing off into a groan, and this time he bumped into the other man on purpose, almost causing them both to trip. Big Boss being Big Boss though, he managed to keep his balance and rewarded Adam with another punch to his shoulder and pushing him against the nearest wall, growling in response.

"What is your problem?!"

The desire to punch a man through a wall has never been quite that strong, Adam found, but a quick glance at his energy reserves revealed that wouldn't quite work out as planned.

"I just told you I can't _see anything_. Now give me the flashlight." He reached for and fumbled with Snake's harness, but his prosthesis was immediately and roughly batted away.

"It's just going to irritate them, so drop it already."

"'Them'?"

"The bats," Snake said, surly, releasing Adam and taking point again. Right back on track—these tunnels were quite intricate, and Adam somehow doubted he knew himself where he was going, which made things all the more worse.

"The... what. Why the hell would bats concern me."

Adam rolled his shoulder, frowned to himself and started to walk, too.

"Unless you've got yet another name you haven't told me about yet. Mr Wayne?"

The reference obviously flew right over Big Boss's head, though Adam decided to file that curious tidbit of knowledge away for later, anyway. From what he knew so far, Snake's consideration for animals of any kind was usually fairly low, if not outright non-existent. He was about to prod a little more—his turn to be an insufferable bastard—but then he could make out a faint, neon green glow (with a slight gold tinge, because the shades _were_ still on) just around the next corner.

Oh, for fuck's sake.

* * *

 

"I'm not eating that."

At the very least they were outside now again, and the way out had been significantly more _comfortable_ (if you could even call it that) than the way in, given the illuminating effect of the bioluminescent fungi, which Big Boss had grabbed a bunch of, half of them stuffed into various pouches and a backpack.

Adam, naturally, hadn't bothered with them, despite being asked _nicely_. If it were up to him they wouldn't have taken any, much less with the intention to _eat them_.

And that's something he was definitely not going to do. He watched Big Boss chew on one of the mushrooms with slight disgust, although his own carefully crafted expression didn't waver. _My god,_ he thought to himself, _Between strange shrooms and diet cookies, this guy will stuff anything down his throat_.

Maybe that's why he was such a loony. A lot of fungi were known for their narcotic and hallucinogetic properties. Something that would make _sense_ , for once.

"Bet you're low on energy though, aren't you," Snake said, after swallowing, though Adam wouldn't have been surprised if he had to listen to him talk with a full mouth. He crossed his arms, inclining his head towards the forest. That's gonna be another two hour walk he was not looking forward to.

"Well, yes."

"And the whole point we came here was to prove that I'm right."

_The whole point we came here was to prove that you're a delusional idiot._

Snake briefly pulled the NVGs back over his eye (and eyepatch), looking pleased with himself.

"There we go."

Adam snorted, and heard Big Boss hum quietly. _How mad do you have to be..._

"You know, Adam, it's been a while since I last got to work on my survival skills, maybe we should—"

" _Fine,_ " the younger man finally relented, grinding the word out. Had he been less irritated, he might have been able to appreciate the scenery of a real, living jungle as opposed to an urban one, but things being as they were, he just wanted to leave as soon as possible. Right now, in fact, so he snatched one of those dumbass glowing mushrooms somewhat impulsively, willing his own gag reflex to be non-existent for a few moments.

At least he didn't have to worry about food poisoning. Being augmented did have its perks, occasionally. Big Boss watched him stuff the fungus into his mouth curiously, with a hand on his hip and a shit-eating grin on his lips, but—mercifully—said nothing.

At first.

"So?"

The augmented fist coming right for his face in a devastating blow was probably all the answer—admittedly a pretty grudging one—he'd receive regarding the matter, but Jack could deal with that.


	4. On Watching Your Back

Adam found him to be more emotional than methodical; driven by instinct more often than not, and—he had to admit to himself—there was something inherently appealing about that. All the skill and routine, no matter how practiced, became meaningless the moment you stopped thinking, a harsh reality he'd had to learn himself, years ago.

With so much power in your hands, it could be difficult to resist the temptation and listen to your conscience. And he didn't particularly bother to, not today, and the other man... well, he  _could_ be methodical, if the hands easing the tension out of his shoulders right now were any indication.

If only he weren't so damn heavy ( _three hundred pounds sounds about right_ ), and he didn't even have any metal grafted onto his body. Thankfully, though, he was in no mood to complain, and being touched did feel pretty damn great. Sure he would have preferred smaller, softer hands over the calloused ones he was currently getting, but he'd stopped being picky about the same time he'd lost one half of his body. He was many things, but hypocrite wasn't one of them.

"Mmn," he murmured into the pillow, followed by a sigh of approval and some minor shifting. The hands at his back stopped moving momentarily.

"Hurts?"

"No," Adam said, and after a pause he added, "Nothing really does." True enough. Given his medical implant and the bioengineered painkillers that would be released into his bloodstream, an ache never lasted for long. When it got disabled for one reason or another, though...

"And here?" He registered a warm hand drift over to the place where flexible polymer was fused to flesh, and then some pressure, but not much beyond that. Given the data translated into something vaguely similar to sensation, Adam guessed that Snake was pinching him.

"The sensory feedback doesn't cover pain." His shoulders rose briefly in a shrug, and he turned just enough to open his eyes and look at the man still sitting on his thighs, a fact which was only mildly distracting.

"Hn," he grunted, apparently considering this.

"What?"

"That would bother me." He moved both of his hands back the Adam's chief tension center, right between his shoulder blades, kneading the skin in circles. Adam closed his eyes again. "Not feeling sore after a long workout, or a good fight."

"I can still feel sore, just not my prostheses."

"What about here?" Predictably, he could now feel digits being dragged down his spine to the small of his back, dangerously close to the waistband of his pants, pressing into the flesh.

"I think that's enough for now," Adam grated, blindly swatted at the hand threatening to grope his ass, and rolled over with some vigor. Big Boss's reflexes were honed—and the man himself wise—enough to remove himself from the other man before that so he wouldn't be catapulted off the bed and get intimately acquainted with the ground.

"Touchy." The dry chuckle was audible, if not the typical grin.

Adam sat up, one hand reaching up to rub at the back of his neck, then he cracked it to the side. He'd really been laying down for quite a while, he only now realized. Big Boss was already up and on his feet, about to put his shirt back on. Thinking about it, he was fairly sure he'd seen the man more often sans shirt than with it, which prompted a strange sort of feeling on Adam's part that he recognized as jealousy.

"Hold on, boss," he said. "Shouldn't we... switch, or something."

The other man paused, hesitating visibly. _Did he get that wrong,_ Adam wondered, contemplating if he should rephrase that, but he didn't have to.

"Sure," came the eventual reply, and Jack draped his shirt over the bed frame again, sitting back down on the mattress with his back turned to Adam, who instinctively felt that something was off. Regardless, he moved closer to scan the Snake's back—a roadmap of scars—and press one of his mechanical palms to the tanned skin.

And when he did, the other man flinched noticably, grunting, shifting ever so slightly and uncomfortably. Adam didn't remove his hand, running metal fingers up between his shoulders, to his neck and back down again. Big Boss had his head turned, but given where Adam was sitting—right in his blindspot—he probably couldn't make out much of what was going on at his back.

Either somebody was _very_ tense from a previous session, or...

"What's wrong."

There was no immediate answer, which probably meant that there was no simple, straightforward one. There seldom was, and lacking deeper knowledge, Adam could only assume that he did not like the feeling of cold metal which could drill into his body any moment now. Not that he blamed him.

He could never quite get used to it, himself. Still a work in progress.

Eventually, noting that he didn't ease up, Adam resigned and removed his hand, meeting the other man's silence with his own. It was Jack that broke it first by speaking up after a bit.

"It's not that," he said, like he knew exactly what Adam was thinking in that moment. "Or you." He turned around.

"Yeah," Adam replied, trying not to sound bitter and failing. "It never is."

Jack sighed, grabbed a fistful of hair, and roughly pulled him into a very messy and uncompromising kiss, tongue and all, which was mostly met with weak thrashing and guttural choking noises, and in hindsight he could probably count himself lucky that he _didn't_ find himself impaled on one of those ceramic blades, because he wasn't the only one that was mostly a slave to his own instincts and spur-of-the-moment decisions.

A few seconds of that and Jack leaned back, palm now covering Adam's mouth and jaw, pushing him away at the same time, considering him for a moment—

"Okay, maybe it _is_ you," he quipped, grinning, "You really gotta shave, first, then we'll talk."

The blades, fine, he could probably refrain from using those, but this guy _was_ going to get intimately acquainted with his hands, _one way or another,_ and boy he'd be sore after that, _that's a promise._


	5. On False Expectations

_Carries himself with the grace and dignity of a king_ , Adam noted, not for the first time, but he was never sure if that thought was supposed to sound cynical or admiring in his own head. Probably something inbetween. Studying people's body language had always been a habit and a hobby, and the implementation of the CASIE had added a whole new layer to it. Comparing Big Boss's psychological profile against profiles of other people he interacted with was nothing short of eye-opening, and sometimes Adam had to wonder what it would read for himself, just out of curiosity.

Then again, he supposed if anyone was able to read him without having to rely on some gadgets, it was that guy. Maybe he should just ask—he'd wanted to, so often— _what the hell do you see in me?_

Probably not too much right now, as he was busy barking orders in regards to some assignment or other while simultanously discussing the general state of affairs. Adam _loved_ these little pow-wows because not only were they highly entertaining, but he almost always had the honor of playing secretary during them, keeping the minutes while having to listen to grown men acting like children.

Ironically, Jack wasn't even the biggest of them in those instances. An unexpetedly good talker, he dominated conversations easily, swaying people to his side without much effort and or having to raise his voice. At the same time, though, Adam had the impression that nobody really _dared_ to disagree with him or voice criticism in the first place, save perhaps Fox, who seemed to enjoy some sort of special standing with the boss.

But Adam didn't particularly care. He could think of a thousand more productive ways of spending his time right now than having to punch words into his notebook, which meant that he wasn't really paying attention to the context— _something something Metal Gear_ —or at least not until his name was mentioned.

"...Yes, Jensen's going to help out there."

"Excuse me?" Adam looked up and at Big Boss, who in turn just narrowed his eyes at him.

"You got a problem with that?" Adam glanced down at his own notes, thankful for the shades hiding his eyes.

 

> **re: further compatibility testing & development of experimental suppressors, test subject needed?**
> 
> **suggestion: jens**

 

Oh. Terrific.

"As a matter of fact--"

"He doesn't," said Fox, deadpan.

Sadly, Adam knew that he'd been interrupted with good intentions in mind, rather than bad ones.

"Good. Tell R&D to prep for next week, then. Do we have a report from the guys in BC yet?"

And that was it. No _would you mind_ or _are you up for it_ , no, they just decided that he'd serve as a guinea pig right over his head. Out of spite, Adam decided that for the remainder of this meeting, his notes would consist of nothing but _fuck you_ s and _bullshit_ s.

Rationally, he knew this was nothing personal, but that didn't make him feel any better.

After about another ten minutes, the entire class—his lieutenants and the heads of various departments—was dismissed. Adam remained seated, and he supposed it was more than obvious that he was pissed off and pouting, but Big Boss, who pushed his chair back to get up himself, knew better than to comment on that. This had taken way longer than expected, and his schedule didn't allow him much downtime. Or the opportunity to consider everyone's feelings on certain matters.

"Adam," he interjected softly, when the addressed man was about to leave the room without another word or look.

"Boss."

"You free tonight?"

"Forget it," Adam snapped, and left, not bothering to close the notebook.

* * *

 

He really had to wonder what it said about him that he went to see him in his office later that evening, anyway.

Perhaps he hoped that Big Boss was going to address the issue again and that they would work out a compromise—an apology would be even better but Adam knew from experience he wasn't going to get that, Jack never apologized unless things were entirely out of his control. And it showcased two facets of his character: that he was more than willing to take responsibility for his actions and that he was, to put it bluntly, an asshole at times.

And yet, for some unfathomable reason, Adam apparently liked that asshole enough for the prospect of getting to spend some alone time with him to seem attractive on _some_ level. To that day, he hadn't worked out why, exactly—perhaps it was due to some twisted form of gratitude or worse yet, Stockholm Syndrome.

Either way, this whole organization was all kinds of fucked up, and Big Boss, warlord extraordinaire, stood right at the center of it like some sort of fixpoint that kept the whole mess together. Adam entered his office without knocking, and found the other man sitting at his desk, hunched over some paperwork, a glass of what he assumed to be booze in one hand. It was a look at that didn't suit him. The room was simply furnished but spacious all the same, and what little equipment he had there, office or otherwise, was more or less all over the place.

Adam was already crossing the room at a sweeping pace when Jack finally took note of him—or just bothered to take note of him. Fatigue amplified by age was edged into his features, but he offered a weary smile regardless.

"Didn't expect you to drop by after all."

_Liar._

"Scotch?" He continued, raising his drink.

"No thanks."

Jack arched an inquisitive brow at that, but said nothing, and neither did Adam. Drinking had been a lot less fun ever since he and his metabolism had gotten augmented. Aside from that, he simply wasn't in a jovial enough mood for sharing drinks while acting all companionable.

"Still mad, I see," Jack remarked dismissively and redirected his attention to the papers in front of him while taking a sip from his glass.

Adam put a hand on his hip, struggling to keep the perpetual gruff drawl. "Whatever gave you that idea."

"You're thirty-six. Stop acting like a brat." He placed his glass down.

"That's rich, coming from you. Is that why you wanted to see me? To tell me that?"

" _Adam._ " There was the growl. First warning, but Adam wasn't about to stop just yet. He stepped forward, slamming both hands down onto the desk, and Jack instinctively jumped out of his chair so they'd be at eye level.

Maybe he'd come here looking for a fight. They were always fighting, the number of arguments they've had far outranked the number of civilized conversations.

"You know, I've been wondering," Adam went on, voice quivering with barely suppressed rage. "Why you even keep me around? Oh, sure, I'm useful, but also everything you hate and never would want to be. Bit hypocritical, don't you think? You must think of me as some sort of toy that's interesting to play with for a while before throwing it aw—"

He wasn't able to finish that sentence because Big Boss suddenly backhanded him across the face, so hard that Adam, even with his fortified body, felt that he might pass out from both the force of the blow and the sharp, stinging pain it caused.

Only later would he realize that this was the single worst possible insult he could have thrown at him. It didn't justify the reaction, but he'd understand it in hindsight. When Adam looked back up at the man that had just struck him, one cooling hand at his own hot, throbbing cheek, he didn't even appear furious—just shocked and, if he looked a little deeper, disappointed.

"I think the real question you should be asking yourself here is what _you_ see in _me_ ," said Big Boss, and his tone became detached and coldly professional. He straightened his own position, chest out, hands clasped behind his back. "Not the other way around. Tell me, Adam—what does it say? You never have."

 _It._ He knew what he was referring to. Adam snorted, looking away—

 

> **PERSONALITY TYPE**
> 
> **Alpha**
> 
> **PERSONALITY TRAITS**
> 
> **Possessive**
> 
> **Passionate**
> 
> **Paranoid**
> 
> **PSYCHOLOGICAL PROFILE**
> 
> **Fosters deep feelings of betrayal, probably due to a traumatizing past. Compensates by surrounding himself with as many people as possible, manipulating them into a codependent relationship, oftentimes unsconsciously. Professional, but loyal and devoted to those that have managed to catch his attention, i.e. strong and steadfast personalities.**
> 
> **Extremely emotional, turns either aggressive or apathetic when he feels threatened. Cannot be reasoned with. Best approached with care and a subservient/humble attitude.**

 

"—Does it matter?"

"To you, apparently. If you can't trust my judgment and aren't interested in getting together peacefully because of it, I suggest you stop wasting my time and leave." Big Boss sat back down as if nothing happened, while Adam remains standing at the other side of the desk, turning his profile over in his own mind. It stung.

_Subservient—can I? Should I? I don't know what to think—_

"I'm sorry, that was a cheap shot. It's just that—"

Jack cut him off.

"You are the most heavily augmented individual we have on base. Do you honestly think I enjoy seeing you turn into a paraplegic, even for an hour? I _don't_. But I know you can handle it, because you've handled _worse_ , and if you don't, it's only a matter of time until others of your kind will destroy everything we've built. For Christ's sake, Adam. I thought you would have realized by now..."

Then he trailed off, and slowly shook his head. There was clearly something more he wanted to say, but deemed pointless after all this.

"What?" Adam said, incredulously. "Realized what?"

"Does it matter?" Came the listless reply, repeating Adam's own words back at him. Then he turned towards his desktop, busying himself and pretending Adam wasn't there.

He did remain silent for a while, listening to the clacking of the keyboard, thinking.

They both fancied themselves smooth and eloquent talkers while being so incredibly bad with words. But even then, he could think of a dozen more to describe the older man with, more than what he'd been given by his social enhancer—and one of them was _Physical._

Jack's gaze, his lone blue eye, was focused on the screen in front of him— _Unhappy, Hurting, Bitter—_ and slowly reached for the side of his face that was covered by the eyepatch, leaning over the table. Jack naturally shied away from the touch, reflexively making a grab for Adam's mechanical wrist without pulling it away.

"You always complain about my shades," he said, shoving a finger beneath the fabric while Jack frowned at him. "But I've never once seen you take this off."

"It's not pretty," Jack said, apathetic. Adam slowly peeled it off. The skin underneath was badly scarred; some kind of burn wound that never fully healed, forcing him to permanently part with one half of his eyesight. Adam let his own lenses slide back into his head.

"I don't really care."

_You've seen all of me and you didn't care._

His cold fingers wandered down past a bristled cheek to rest at coarse, chapped lips for a moment, before leaning even further down and replacing them with something decidedly warmer, and this time, Jack leaned into the touch, craving more of it.

* * *

 

He moved against him and let himself be moved by him. It was easier than he had initially assumed, to let this man take charge, guide and direct in ways that were beneficial to them both, without being completely swept away by the waves of whatever emotion it was that kept _him_ afloat.

He held onto him when Jack assaulted his neck with his teeth while kneading the still covered and steadily growing bulge between his legs, boundless energy and passion behind each and every one of his motions. Adam had a hard time keeping up, but some fingers eventually found their way to his collar, idly tugging his sloppily bound tie loose before unbuttoning his shirt, top to bottom, with mechanical precision.

After their fight, they had mutually agreed, without words, that moving to Jack's private quarters was probably a good idea when it came to licking and cleaning each other's wounds like the brainless, needy dogs they were. Nothing much was said, but plenty was understood. It worked better that way, and Adam gave a soft gasp the next time Jack squeezed him hard through his pants, while he hastily brushed the fabric of his shirt aside and off one of his shoulders—there was nothing underneath, and his hand seized the opportunity by roaming his toned chest, which was nothing short of perfect despite all the ugly marks that had been left on it, but Jack wore them like medals, like something that had become so essential to his own being that he wouldn't be the person he was today without them. Adam knew there was a story behind each scar, and he also knew that Jack remembered each one of them, and could retell them in vivid detail if asked.

Not tonight, though. Tonight he just wanted to admire and indulge in what was so readily offered to him. It were moments like these when he realized, truly realized, that the other man—defying the very core of his own being—was overflowing with unadulterated love but had little to no ambition to give it, because for each time he handed a piece of his heart to someone, he received it back soon after, shattered into even tinier pieces.

Adam still didn't fully agree with him, nor could he ever support everything he did. He could, however, enjoy this—their relationship—for what it was, and not detest it for what it wasn't.

And right now, it felt good. Good how he worked his throat and shoulders with his hot, wet mouth, one arm tightly wrapped around his waist to keep their bodies close and touching.

"Fuck," Adam breathed and reclined his head, scything his fingers through Jack's hair, who had positioned one of his legs between the other's thighs now, moving it ever so slightly to provide some much needed friction. His legs weren't particularly prone to weakness, but he was pretty sure he'd have to sit down soon if this went on for much longer. That he was a good lover had never really been up for debate, and yet this was the first time that Adam consciously found himself thinking that he wanted to be devoured whole—and to be fucked.

It was absolutely laughable, because he didn't even want Jack to ask if he could. He just wanted him to do it. He didn't really understand himself anymore, if he ever had.

"Adam—" The hoarse whisper at his ear was almost enough to make him shiver. It took quite some willpower to gently but firmly push the man currently attached to him away, and Jack appeared mildy confused and disheartened for a second there.

"Let me," said Adam, trying to catch his breath. "Sit down." Jack's head canted to one side. How did he manage to look so _innocent_ —

"Okay?" He replied, still not sure what to make of this. Fortunately, the bed was right behind them, and Jack shrugged out of his shirt as he took a step back, sinking down onto the mattress to sit at the edge of it, keeping a close eye on Adam.

Adam, who took a deep breath, swallowed once, and lowered himself into a crouch, shifting even closer as he pushed the thighs in front of him apart to have more space.

 _What the hell am I even doing_ , he thought, working the damn belt and fly open. Above him, Jack made a sound that was difficult to place, something between a surprised grunt and a pleased sigh.

"You don't have to," Adam heard him say.

"Maybe I want to." He immediately regretted how sulky his reply had sounded. He didn't want Jack to think he did this because he felt obligated to.

He just wanted to get the fuck over himself and make sure this was enjoyable for the both of them—and yet his mechanical hands just looked so misplaced grasping a dick that wasn't his own. Hell, they looked misplaced _anywhere_ near reproductive organs.

He was sure Jack didn't like the feeling and simply said nothing out of courtesy. He did something, though—place his hand at the back of Adam's head, stroking him like one would a dog, and he wasn't sure if it was meant to be an encouraging or comforting gesture. Maybe both.

Meanwhile, Adam stared at the half-hard cock in his hand and had no idea how that was even going to fit. _Grit your teeth and get to it_ , but preferably without gritting his teeth _too_ much, for Jack's sake.

Swallowing one last time, he leaned forward, bringing his slightly parted lips to the head of his cock, pressing his tongue against it to taste him first. He found it bearable. He also found that, once he started to tentatively take him into his mouth, covering his own teeth as best as he could, Jack responded, both audibly and physically. Especially physically. His hips trembled with the barely suppressed need to push further, something incredibly subtle, but his prosthestic, currently braced against it, picked up on it regardless.

Adam couldn't put his finger on why, exactly, this felt so incredibly satisfying. His lips slid further down his cock, another inch, and he could hear Jack sharply inhaling air. It was great. He closed his eyes, and started to suck at the hard flesh, keeping it nestled between his tongue and the roof of his mouth, into which it was already leaking certain fluids.

"Mm."

"Adam," came the voice from above again, a slight tremble to it, this time. Adam noticed how his fingers had begun grasping at strands of hair. "Please start moving."

_Please._

That was new. And although he wouldn't mind it if he just yanked him into his lap, Adam appreciated it all the same. In light of all of this, he saw no reason not to do as requested, and began bobbing his head, slowly, taking him just as far as he was comfortable with.

Needless to say, he couldn't take very much, but it seemed to be enough for Jack—as if he was used to it.

He gave a hum, and Jack gave a groan. Adam took pleasure in the other man lending his own satisfaction a voice, even if the act itself wasn't particularly arousing. It didn't take him long to figure out which pace brought out the most favorable responses, and Adam indulged him for quite a while, alternating the pressure and level of suction.

"Hrr," he heard a growl, and then, all of a sudden, Jack did yank at his hair—upwards. His wet cock slid out of his mouth, and he was damn lucky that his teeth didn't graze him in the process.

"What the—"

"C'mere."

And then he was pulled into his lap, alright. Adam let out a very uncharacteristic yelp, which was promptly stifled by a very hungry mouth that did not at all seem perturbed by the fact that the other's lips and tongue had just been at his cock.

 _This guy._ Adam braced himself against his shoulders, kissing back with equal fervor. As much as he had enjoyed exerting _some_ kind of control over Jack, he was actually sort of glad to have a break. While he didn't feel revulsed, cocks—much less those in his mouth—would never become his favorite thing, and Adam realized that he really only had done it for him.

But even so, whether Jack was special or not—and he certainly was special in a lot of ways—kissing was pretty universal, even if he would never forget just who he was kissing here, even with his eyes shut, given how god damn fuzzy the other man was, and he wondered if Jack had the same thought in that moment. It was amusing; and into a kiss that didn't seem to end, he smiled.

For once. Both of Jack's wandering hands were at his back, and soon enough at his ass, pushing a little and making it easy for him to shift closer into his lap. There was little finesse to what they were doing, and instead a whole lot of improvisation. But during it all, Adam knew where this would lead, and in what kind of position he would eventually find himself in.

Might as well get a headstart. Depriving Jack of his own lips and only teasingly flicking his tongue against his, he idly worked open his too-tight pants and tugged his erection free, and it took only a minimal amount of shifting for it to touch Jack's. As if on cue, he began to grind, his own cock hard and throbbing and needy at this point.

"Your pants are in the way," Jack rasped, voice husky and heavy with desire. His large hands were still possessively groping his ass, and Adam could feel their warmth through the fabric. He could feel even more warmth creep up into his face. A part of him, the stubborn, indignant one, wanted nothing more than to swat them away, but strangely enough, it—he—was really very docile in that moment.

"They are," Adam agreed, and decided to fix that, climbing off his lap to rid himself of whatever articles of clothing remained. Jack didn't remain idle, either. He made strikingly clear what he expected of him next by getting more comfortable on the bed, pushing himself towards the headboard until it was right at his back, lending support, and pulled off his own pants.

Somehow Adam couldn't help but think this'd be a whole lot easier if Jack ravished him. That way, he could at least tell himself later _well, I didn't have much of a choice_ , instead of...

Jack gestured at his own lap, looking at him expectantly, and Adam obeyed the silent command, reminding himself that for as long as he acted _subservient,_ things were good, and he didn't want sex to become something bad and intimidating, not again. Not when Jack was able to make him forget how very different he was and would always be; making him feel _wanted_ , instead. So he climbed back onto the bed, and onto his lap to straddle him, sans pants.

While he tried to prepare himself mentally and distract himself by grinding some more against Jack's chiseled abs, the other man took it upon himself to prepare him physically.

"We'll take it slow, this time."

His calloused hand was stroking his rear, fingers prodding at a tight ring of muscle. The human part of Adam's body tensed up, hips arching, his prosthetic grasp firm and probably painful on Jack's shoulders. He tried not to cringe. Tried not to let his mostly composed expression falter too much.

"Don't you have—"

"Yes," Jack said, reassuringly. "Hold on."

He hadn't even needed to bring it up, because Jack's other hand had already been fishing for something in the drawer of the nightstand before Adam had said anything. _Thank God for small mercies._ Taking him without any lube was like outright torture, and Adam didn't throw that synonym around lightly.

He watched him squeeze some of the lubricant onto two of his fingers, a feeling of dread forming in his stomach. Or maybe it was anticipation; hard to tell, really. He grunted when he finally felt cold digits circling his entrance before pushing in, and Adam quickly decided that he didn't want to remain totally passive despite their position. While Jack worked his way inside him, inch for inch, Adam made a grab for the discarded tube, emptying its contents over Jack's cock, using his hand to rub it on—inch for inch. Jack didn't seem to mind as it sped up preparations considerably, although he still took his time fingering the other man, never pushing too deep, while Adam was more or less jerking him off, lazily. His prosthetic eyes sought out and received the attention of his single one, clear and intense and predatory. All that caged violence. Adam knew he was reining himself in so they could meet halfway, an unspoken, delicate compromise.

It'd do. He moved away from the intruding fingers while is own palm remained wrapped around his dick, signaling him that he was ready. Jack didn't push; he was still on top—but he'd let him set the pace. _At your leisure._ He lifted his hips, guided his slick, slippery cock to his hole, and sank down on it, growling and cursing quietly the whole way through, willing himself to relax to keep the inevitable pain under control. It would always hurt at first for as long as he didn't make sleeping with men a habit. Or just specifically with Big Boss.

Made up for all the sensation he lacked everywhere else, he guessed, and Adam violently slammed his hips down, impaling himself, biting down on his tongue so hard he could taste blood, but at least he'd managed to swallow down any pitiful whining this way, effectively shutting himself up. From Jack he just heard a strained gasp, his cock now fully buried inside the other man, placing his hands at his thighs, absentmindedly stroking up and down, another one of those gentle, affectionate gestures that equated to a reward for having done well.

Adam took a deep, shaky breath, chuckling quietly at the absurdity of it all. "Only for you," he gave a subdued, labored groan, willing himself to move, his knees pushing himself off the mattress before sinking down once more, and again, and another time, adjusting his angle subtly each time in hopes of finding the one that provided him with the pleasure he so desperately craved for himself. His metal fingers dug deep into Jack's skin, as if they wanted to keep him in place, despite him not moving very much to begin with.

There was barely any force behind his thrusts, which just served to help Adam along as he rode him. It took a while, but eventually Adam found a pace his own body could agree with, one he might even grow to enjoy, and once he did he began to progressively fuck himself harder on Jack's cock, unable to really keep himself and especially the sounds that escaped his lips in check anymore. He tried to roll his hips more so his cock would maybe get some friction from Jack's stomach, but that didn't work, so Adam had all the more reason to concentrate on deriving pleasure from anal, and became unexpectedly ferocious about it.

Jack was oddly quiet during all of this, but Adam, his own eyes glazed over when not shut, could feel his pervasive gaze on his own body, hot and heavy.

But eventually, after another particularly hard smack that caused Adam to helplessly convulse and clench down on him, he said, "You're so hot right now. Keep going."

Some compliment that was. Adam glanced at him when he could no longer feel his hands on his body—would be really fucking nice if he started jerking him off, wouldn't it—because they were busying themselves with something else.

"Are you seriously—" Adam could hardly get the words out. "Going to have a smoke... hn, while I ride your damn cock?"

Jack gave a good-natured laugh. Just by looking at his face you would have never guessed he was having sex right now.

"Yes."

"How about _after_ —"

"I can smoke before, during, _and_ after," he pointed out, looking amused and lightly patting Adam's thigh after having placed the cigar between his lips, tongue rolling it to one corner of his mouth.

"I'm enjoying the show."

He bucked his hips, and Adam gave a frustrated groan, almost losing his balance. When he regained it, he involuntarly had to breathe in a cloud of smoke. That didn't bother him. What bothered him was the total, absolute, irritating _nonchalance_ Jack displayed while he was—

"...Urrgh." He swallowed down the growing anger in his chest, letting himself fall forward instead to bury his face in Jack's shoulder, slowing down considerably, his pace becoming lackluster knowing that Jack, apparently, had the stamina of an ox. On top of that, he couldn't help but feel embarassed.

The other man seemed to take note of that, at least.

"You're not getting bored," Adam heard him murmur close to his ear. "Are you?"

He decided to be honest. "A little bit, yeah." Somehow, Adam had imagined he would actually enjoy sleeping with a docile, agreeable, placid Jack—he was just entirely passive, and entirely unimpressed. He thought back to how they'd started out, and that had seemed a lot more promising. Now—

"Ah," said Jack, and let a few moments of brooding silence pass. Adam had almost stopped moving altogether when he was pushed back, and pushed back _hard_ , swearing loudly when he unexpectantly ended up on his back, bouncing on the mattress, Jack's cock still inside him.

"What _now_ ," he growled at the man above him, ready to continue and finally let out the pent up frustration he'd held in for so long, but Jack's next thrust was hard enough to force the air out of his lungs and cause the HUD framing his vision to shake. And again. Adam, unable to fully process what was happening, blindly clawed for something to hold onto and found Jack's arms, which in turn had his knees pinned to the mattress, his legs spread wide open.

If there was any protest, it had long since died down in his throat, and Adam's eyes rolled back in his head when Jack assaulted his prostrate mercilessly, his pace rapid and hard and demanding, getting the angle _just right_.

"Oh god," he moaned loudly, when Jack's fingers finally and firmly wrapped around his cock, thumb rubbing at its glans, precome flowing freely.

"Is this more to your liking?" He heard him growl, looming above him, like a rabid animal.

Adam couldn't respond. The phrase, _getting your brains fucked out_ wouldn't occur to him in this context until a while later.  He tried to establish and maintain eye contact with Jack, but Adam didn't quite stand a chance when it came to his intense, piercing stare that seemed to bore deep into him, much like his rough, unrestrained thrusts. He hadn't been able to build up much of a resistance before, and what little there was was now brutally and singlemindedly torn down. Jack fucked like he fought—with purpose. Always with purpose. And in the heat of it all, his ability to think completely stripped off him, Adam found it—him—irresistible. His hand, now a blur on his cock, moved in a matching pace with the rest of his body, coordinated and yet so vigorously which just served to demonstrate how much control he really had over himself, over others, that he knew precisely when and how to apply all that raw strength nurtured and contained within him—

"I'm coming," Adam croaked after only a few minutes of this, another violent thrust rocking his body. Some ash from Jack's cigar dropped onto his skin, but he didn't even register it.

"I don't think so."

And then his pace became agonizingly slow, pushing in and out in long, hard strokes, and his hand did much the same. Adam groaned in protest, desperately arching into his palm because he'd been so _close_ , and besides that nothing else really seemed to matter much anymore. Robot parts or not, he was still just a man with a healthy libido, and being denied after having come so far was just the _worst_.

Jack's _at your leisure_ had become Adam's _at your mercy_. He just wanted to come.

"Jack, knock it—"

"It's Boss."

"Boss!" He called urgently, correcting himself automatically, and whatever Jack was trying to do here, it was probably working. He gave back a bit that force and speed he'd been depriving Adam of. Another carrot. Doing well.

"You're not coming until I say you can," Jack told him, using his other hand and his own weight to nail Adam to the bed by a shoulder.

 _Are you fucking kidding me_ , Adam thought, but could already guess that he wouldn't get what he craved if Jack didn't get to hear what he wanted to hear, so his answer was a pressed, "I won't." No matter how ridiculous it was. And sure enough, Jack resumed that wonderful pace that brought Adam to the brink of a mindblowing orgasm again in no time. With each stroke his entire length ground against his innermost center of pleasure while his own was pumped furiously. He'd never had sex like this before, and never in a million years could he have imagined that he would even _like it_.

But here he was, receiving and moaning with abandon, his voice gruff and hoarse.

"God, like that, yes... _yes_ —fuck!"

One more thrust was one too much, and Adam's back arched, his grip tightened and his body convulsed around Jack's cock as he came long and hard, into the palm still grasping him and onto his own stomach. He was holding his own breath—his rebreather clicked on once, twice, but he was too far gone to even notice—until he was almost done, but when he finally opened his mouth again, he couldn't hold in a long-winded, throaty groan, followed by a number of ragged grunts and gasps that gave his strain and exhaustion a voice. Once he was done spilling, he let go of Jack and fell back into the sheets, out of breath, out of business, skin covered in a sheen of sweat.

"Look at the fucking mess you made."

Adam didn't particularly care what Jack was up to anymore—now that he had gotten what he wanted, even if that meant totally disregarding a previous _arrangement._ He snorted, eyes still shut, head lolling to the side, like he was about ready to pass out and not give a shit anymore.

It was the burning sting of something incredibly hot and painful jerking him back into reality.

"What the _fuck_?!" He cried out, as Jack continued to grind his still smoldering cigar out on his chest. Reflexively he tried to bat his hand away, but Jack was faster, applying a steel grip of his own. The damage was minor and would heal up quick, even according to his own medical implant, but really, _what the fuck_?

"I said," he growled, lowly. He was looking at Adam like some dog that had just made a mess all over the carpet. "Don't come."

"So what," Adam spat, defiantly, trying to free himself half-heartedly, to no avail.

"You have no self-restraint." Jack discarded what was left of the cigar by flicking it aside, leaving a nice little burn mark in Adam's skin.

"Fine, then. Have it your way."

For a moment, Adam thought Jack was fed up with him and would leave him be, especially seeing as he pulled out of him and shifted backwards— _good_. Maybe he'd go and jerk off now, which is something Adam would have felt sorry about if he hadn't just been such an ass about it. His eyes fluttered close.

He frowned when he felt something wet and cold on his softening cock, and opened his eyes again, craning his neck and giving a grunt of annoyance. A second later Jack's hand was wrapped around his cock again, spreading what appeared to be spit along the very sensitive length. He had no fucking idea what that was about, and with a growl, he attempted to roll over onto his stomach, but predictably, Jack, who had other plans, didn't let him.

"Not this soon," Adam said, trying not to whimper when that hand kept stroking him, squirming mildly. He wasn't against a second round, provided Jack knew how to behave himself this time, but not right after climaxing.

It went totally ignored. Adam moved to sit up, but Jack pushed him down again, straddling his waist.

"You didn't wait for me," he snapped, feeling behind himself and for Adam's semi-hard cock, and Adam's breath hitched when Jack pushed him inside his own ass as he lowered his hips down.

"Tell me one good reason why I should wait for you."

He couldn't think of one. Adam looked up at him, distressed. Under different circumstances, he would have loved Jack on top of him like this, riding him like he was a god damn horse. His stomach lurched, because this was more than likely going to be a very uncomfortable and painful ride—all the energy reserves of his augmentations didn't help jackshit when it came to the flesh parts.

Okay. Maybe if he acted subservient again—

"Jack, I'm sorry. Just—I can't. Give me ten minutes." Or twenty. He reached for one of Jack's hands, but it was immediately pulled away and instead planted on one of his shoulders just like the other, to keep him down.

"No," he answered firmly, and started to move his heavy body. Adam rolled his eyes, giving a soundless groan and trying desperately to push his own hips deeper into the mattress to escape the tightness that enveloped his cock, but it was useless. His dick wanted to go soft, but Jack just wouldn't allow it, and kept on grinding and clenching and fucking, agonizingly slow, taking him back into his ass each time he somehow managed to slip out; and when Adam no longer had any ambitions to try and wriggle himself free, he used one hand to jerk himself off while Adam's own cybernetic hands clawed aimlessly at the sheets.

He tortured him like this for thirty minutes, though it felt like an eternity to Adam, and by the end of it—when Jack finally came, with a single quiet, subdued grunt, adding to the hot white mess on his stomach, some of it even reaching his face—Adam was so close again he almost felt like crying, because this time, Jack definitely wouldn't let him finish. He just unceremoniously swung a leg over his waist, dismounting him, and that was it. Adam rolled to side, a barely audible whimper escaping him.

He reached down, between his own legs, but his prosthetic hands didn't do anything for him after all this.

"Ask me," he heard Jack's sensual, gravely voice, his hot breath sweeping over his neck and ear, feeling his body press up against his back.

He knew now what to do.

"Please, boss," he said submissively, leaning his head back and moving against that body behind him, craving its touch.

"Please finish me."

"There's a good boy."

Jack did as he was asked, and chose not to play around anymore, letting Adam spill into his warm palm a second time, without further comment.

Wiping his hand clean on the already messed up sheets, he remained comfortably nestled against Adam, placing one arm around his waist before they both drifted off, heaving chests being the only thing to still move them for the rest of the night.

* * *

 

"Sure you're ready for this, Mr Jensen?"

"Always. I can hardly wait to be shut down like a common household appliance," Adam replied, not hiding the sarcasm his voice was dripping with. The doctor in charge of this little experiment gave a nervous chuckle while scribbling something on his clipboard, then nodded at his assistant to signal him to secure their test subject.

Truth was, he was terrified. Strapped to a strange device—some kind of seat—that reminded him way too much of the one he'd been bound to while he'd taken a little detour during his trip to Singapore, and he felt just as clueless as he'd had back then. They'd tried to explain to him that it was just some device that helped them acquire data, along with the various cables plugged into him, and that would, in a worst case scenario, serve to restrain him. What exactly the worst case scenario was or how likely it was to occur though—they didn't tell him.

"Shouldn't take longer than an hour, two at most," the man tried to alleviate his worries, but Adam didn't really bother anymore.

"Just get this over with, doc."

The lab door opened just as the man went back to a medical tray to fetch a syringe, and Adam raised his chin just in time to see Big Boss saunter in, sporting an overcoat.

"Came to enjoy the show?" Adam said, his typical deadpan snark. Jack gave him a wry smile, acknowledging a joke shared just between the two of them that wasn't understood by whoever else was currently in the room.

"You sound surprised."

"Sir?" The head doctor sounded only mildly confused, syringe still in hand. Big Boss waved dismissively. "Carry on. I just want to see what happens, myself."

"Yes sir."

Big Boss grabbed himself a chair from one corner of the room, placing it in front of Adam's to sit down, facing him while the doctor moved behind the augmented man.

"We're processing and evaluating the data in the other room," he explained, and Adam glanced at the one-way mirror separating this room from the adjacent one. Of course they'd still be able to watch him, for _scientific_ purposes. "It might take a few minutes until it shows any effect. We're still working on that," he continued, sounding a little sheepish about having to admit that fact. Jack didn't seem to care. Then, finally, the syringe was thrust into Adam's neck, its contents emptied into one of his veins, and he grunted in response.

"Never liked needles," he grumbled, and once the doctor was done, he took the empty syringe and retreated into the other room to join his colleagues, closing the door, while Jack remained.

"Could be worse," he said, after a bit.

"Probably. How was your day?"

"Crap. Had to detain some guys for sneaking around the women's communal showers."

Adam laughed, feeling his legs go numb, and trying to ignore it. "Philipps and Allan?"

"Those two. I've lost count how often I've already told them not to let themselves get caught. I should probably get used to people not listening at this point."

"Well, not to _you_ ," Adam said facetiously, lifting his hand as much as he could with his wrist being strapped down, pointing his index finger at Jack for emphasis—but then that went numb too, dropping back down onto the armrest, limp. Jack stared at his prosthetic, knitting his brow, and said nothing.

Neither did Adam. For a while, there was silence, save for the intermittent beeping of the ECG monitor Adam had been hooked up to—just in case. _What case?_

"Jack," he spoke up, after a moment or two. When the man he just addressed looked up at him, his own vision starting to blur and distort, he could see worry edged into his features. His HUD displayed various error messages, and the different applications attempted to reboot repeatedly, with little success.

He felt a very distant prickle in his metallic digits. His gaze dropped, catching sight of Jack's hand holding and squeezing his own for a split second until everything went black, and he slumped back against the cold steel in his back, hearing the other man suck in a startled breath.

So that's what it was like to be trapped in your own body, unable to move, unable to see. He could only think rationally and wonder very briefly—is this what it would have been like? If he hadn't been saved, back then? To be a cripple, for the rest of his life, and that was the precise moment where panic threatened to overtake him and he wanted nothing more than to scream—

But he didn't, because something warm in shape of a hand had placed itself on his chest, telling him not to.

"I'm here," Jack said.


	6. On Pressure Practice

It was the sound of shattering glass that made him look up.

Didn't take a genius to pinpoint the reason for the strange sound coming from the kitchen, and after draping his coat over the backrest of the couch, Adam decided to join his companion to make sure he was—all right. Predictably, Jack was standing there with a red, dripping hand frozen in the air, still clenched into a fist, shards of glass right below it on the counter.

 _Well_ , he supposed, _at least it's not what it looks like at first glance._

"How many glasses is that now?" Adam said, leaning in the doorframe, arms crossed. Jack was staring at some indeterminable point right in front of him before slowly, like in slow-motion, his gaze dropped and his prosthetic fist unfurled.

It wasn't the first time something broke, or that he had certain problems—from lighting cigars over buttoning his shirt to something so simple as picking up a glass, it had all become a struggle for control, which was why most of the time, Jack avoided using his left hand at all if he could help it. 

Unfortunately, a lack of practice just meant that it wouldn't get better, and also that these accidents wouldn't stop occuring whenever he unconsciously reached for something with the prosthetic, anyway.

They sighed almost in unison, and Jack turned, shoving himself past Adam and out of the kitchen.

"So glad someone derives entertainment from this." He sounded bitter. Adam picked up the open bottle of whiskey next to the remains of the ruined glass and followed him, raising it to his mouth to take a long swig. The alcohol and the associated warmth immediately settled at his stomach, making his head feel light.

That'd be all he'd need this night.

"Twenty-three," he said. Jack, now at the nightstand near the bed, was busy wiping his booze-covered prosthetic clean with some tissues, but hopefully listening.

"That's how many I broke before I was able to pick up and put down a glass without causing any cracks."

The other man, his back still turned, didn't reply. Adam could understand his frustration—he'd been in the same damn position once, which was probably reason enough for Jack to dismiss what he had to say altogether. 

And again, Adam couldn't blame him. The last thing you want to hear are expressions of sympathy or advice, no matter how well-meant it was—and yet. He wasn't here to enable his mopey mood.

"Well—look at it like this. Compared to when I was in your situation, you got one big advantage," Adam said, standing close to him. Jack eyed him up when he placed the bottle down.

"You have someone to practice with."

"Practice, huh." He sounded skeptical.

"Is that what we call it now?" Adam just inclined his chin towards the bed, and the message was understood with a frown. Jack took another moment or two making sure his hand wouldn't be sticky, before dropping the used tissues and sitting down at the edge of the bed, and Adam followed suit, immediately pulling Jack's prosthetic out of his lap and into his own hands, black against red.

He loosened each of the mechanical fingers up, bending them a bit, before rolling the hand back into a fist. Then he opened it again, palm flat, before repeating the whole process a number of times, with varying pressure each time. It was the simplest of exercises and one Jack was supposed to do on his own, but he really couldn't be bothered most of the time, which was weird, considering the man kept up such a strict training regimen—just when it came to his replacement arm he apparently didn't want to be reminded about it.

Even now, he seemed more annoyed by this than anything, heaving a disgruntled sigh as metal ground against metal repeatedly; the sounds they made cold and artificial, accentuated by the softest of cybernetic whirs.

Jack's model was very basic. Adam knew and acknowledged that it was twice as hard for him, because he felt absolutely nothing—no sensory feedback. He had to actively remember how much pressure he could exert. Then again—he still had his other arm, so maybe that made up for it. Adam honestly couldn't say who was better off here.

"When you lost your eye," he said, after a while. "You also got used to the difference in depth perception."

"Because I had to."

"You also have to get used to this. It's supposed to make things easier, not more difficult. I told you to pick back up your gun thing. It's going to help with your fine motor skills."

_It did help me._

"It's too frustrating," Jack groused. Adam stopped momentarily to look at his face.

"Since when has that ever stopped you? Big Boss, more like Big Baby." That earned him a mildly irritated scowl, at least, but Adam ignored it and let his prosthetic go to reach behind himself for the bottle of whiskey again to thrust it into Jack's metal palm, prompting him to wrap his fingers around it while he himself was still holding it by the neck.

"Gently."

Jack gave him a look that communicated well how obnoxious he thought he was being tonight, but he eventually relented with a grunt. His fingers closed one by one around the fragile glass of the half-full bottle, and it only took a couple of seconds before a crunching sound could be heard.

Adam immediately and quickly pulled the bottle upwards and out of his grasp. So much for that. At this point, he honestly couldn't be sure if Jack did this on purpose just to be obnoxious right back.

Looking at how his gaze dropped after Adam had put the bottle back down with an exasperated sigh, though—it was hard to believe that his crudeness was intentional. He'd always had way too much strength, and no longer having control over part of it must have been grating heavily on his nerves, to the point of very uncharacteristic apathy.

He wasn't the type to try and get back the things he lost. When his life fell apart and the world started burning around him, he accepted it and moved on, amputating parts of himself and his own emotions, in hopes he would no longer feel it.

Unfortunately, ghosts and phantoms of times long past had made him their favorite target, not granting him any rest. Jack dreamt very vividly, and Adam was sure he had learned more about his past through his nightly episodes than by listening to tales he actually cared to share during moments of genuine intimacy.

"So, further practice," Jack said, turning his profile to Adam, "Is probably not a good idea."

Adam still didn't care about enabling his self-pity. "Lucky for you, I'm not made of glass."

By the time he was done getting rid of his own shirt and Jack had turned his head to catch sight of it, Adam had already aggressively thrown himself at him, and their combined weight caused them both to bounce on the creaking mattress. Adam crawled on top of him to straddle him, and while Jack's hands instinctively held onto the other body—if the mechanical grip on his own mechanical arm was crushing, Adam couldn't tell—he did nothing to push him off. He opened his mouth to say something, but Adam just took advantage of that by shoving his tongue down his throat and stifle any protest.

At least for a minute or so.

"Did you just _jump_ me?" Jack said incredulously, a little out of breath.

"Looks like it," Adam responded, calmly working Jack's shirt open and exposing a fine—very fine body, one he had become quite the connoisseur of, indeed. He ran his own cold, dead hands across it, relishing in the perversion, while subtly grinding his crotch against another.

Jack blinked up at him, slowly. The grip of his own prosthetic loosened a little, and he moved it up Adam's arm, and then down again—there was pressure behind it all right, but not enough to break anything; not even enough to be felt.

Just a barely audible screech. Touching for the sake of touching, to stimulate the visual senses.

"That's very... untypical."

"Maybe it's because I've been horny and wanting to fuck you the entire day. So I'm _sorry_ , but we're not having a pity party tonight."

He leaned down again, his mouth finding Jack's throat while a couple of his fingers found a nipple, rubbing at it eagerly, knowing he responded particularly well to that kind of stimulation. And true enough, he elicited a soft gasp and Jack reclined his head, exposing even more of his throat and giving Adam more skin to dig his teeth into. He could feel the rumble of a growing chuckle as he agressively worked him with everything his mouth had to offer, leaving a wet trail on warm, pulsing skin.

"Oh, it's one of those days, then." His voice was hoarse, and his flesh and blood hand buried itself in Adam's hair. "Least you had enough self-control to not hump my leg."

Adam couldn't decide if he wanted to punch him in the gut or pinch his nipple, but since his hand was still around his chest area, he settled for the latter. And then punched him in the gut regardless, with the other hand, but the abuse just earned him another breathless laugh. 

Well, at least he got him to stop brooding, and that was never a bad thing.

"I really want to punch you through a wall sometimes," he hissed into his ear, one furry cheek pressed against another, before assaulting it with his moist tongue.

"Eh," Jack grunted, and actively—though not without some trouble, thanks to the very unresponsive prosthesis—began to fumble with Adam's belt. 

"I think pounding me into the mattress would be good enough for now."

Adam certainly wasn't going to overlook an open invitation like that. For things to proceed into that direction, Jack had to be in a certain mood—apparently they were both lucky tonight.

One of those days, indeed. And although Adam really had a hard time (figuratively and literally) containing himself now, he didn't rush things. Jack was still busy with his belt, actively using both of his hands, and he gave him room and time. For now, he was content with having his rugged handsome face and broad chest all to himself. He kissed him again, softer this time, but just as deeply as before to make his intentions perfectly clear. Jack accommodated him, hands working as quickly as they could, given the circumstances.

It was Adam who broke their kiss as he suddenly pulled away, as if he had burned himself—not quite.

"Ah, aaaah. What are you—"

"Looks like I got you by the balls."

The hand in his pants wasn't hot and burning, just cold, hard, and way too unpredictable. And after what had happened to the glass and then almost to the bottle—no, no, definitely _no_ ; he did _not_ want that hand anywhere near his cock just yet. Already it was cupping him, way too hard for his taste, and Adam sharply sucked in some breath, not daring to move too much right now, so his hips remained frozen in their current position.

"Ow, fuck! This isn't funny—come on, man."

"It's not supposed to be." Yeah, only that smug grin spoke a different language. "You can give me direct feedback. Is this too much?"

" _Yes._ " Definitely yes. He could feel his own heart starting to beat faster at the prospect of losing his last remaining limb if Jack, or he himself, did anything stupid right now. _Oh god. Oh god, please don't fucking crush my balls._

Didn't help that he had all the reason to do so after some of the shit Adam's pulled in the past. Maybe calling it practice _had_ been a bad idea.

"Hrm," Jack made a contemplative sound, his fingers moved, and Adam squeezed his own eyes shut, expecting the worst. He breathed a sigh of relief when he felt that the pressure decreased, but that didn't necessarily mean he was safe just yet. His hips trembled slightly, and Jack must have noticed, because he said,

"You don't really think I would..."

He trailed off when Adam gave a shaky, quiet laugh. He couldn't be sure, and it annoyed him; the very fact that he felt uncomfortable being touched by something that was so integral to himself. Whenever he'd touched Jack—even the first time—he'd never openly showed fear or concern, some slight discomfort, at worst, but it was gone as quickly as Adam had noticed it.

In conclusion, considering the state of his own body and everything that had led to this, he was being a big fat hypocrite right now, but at least he realized that himself.

"Just," he began again, willing himself to calm down, both of his mechanical palms flat against Jack's stomach. "Be careful."

Jack snorted a laugh himself. "And you called me a baby. Dumb kid. Kiss me."

And so he did. Adam leaned down, moaning softly into the other man's mouth when the prosthetic inside his pants began to move. The feeling itself wasn't unfamiliar at all, but he hadn't touched himself in quite a while because there simple had been no need to. Now there was only one warm, living hand between the two of them (and who knew for how long), and Adam supposed it was about time that he developed a certain... not quite a preference, but acceptance. You could develop a taste for anything, so maybe he wasn't the only one attempting to help someone get used to something imitating life while so devoid of it.

Against all odds, Jack's hand didn't crush him. A few times it would slip or the grip would tighten a little too much, but whenever he flinched Jack adjusted automatically, and they worked just fine in tandem, like a feedback loop. Didn't take long for Adam to actually enjoy the attention given to him, either, because Jack wasn't apathetic or inattentive for even a second.

 _Naturally_ , Adam thought, _because he cares_. He kissed him harder, his own black fingers sliding down his body, reaching his pants and deftly working them open to return the favor, freeing his already engorged length and wrapping themselves around it. Playing with it. He was so fucking hard. Everywhere.

"I gotta," Adam panted, against his lips, and Jack understood just fine. Very carefully, he relaxed his grasp and then pulled the prosthetic out of his pants, and with a hot rushed sigh, Adam moved both of his legs to one side of the body beneath him, but only so he could dispose of those very bothersome pants of his. Jack didn't seem to mind, and stretched his own body, shifting into a slightly more comfortable position on the bed.

"Can you fetch me a smoke?" He said, bending and spreading his legs, his large cock standing at attention, and Adam assumed his place between his thighs almost immediately, starting to grind.

"Not now," he murmured, dismissively, pushing for another kiss, and Jack complied with a grunt. Priorities, and all that. His mouth was one—he loved those lips, forcing them into silence and making them his.

It had taken him years to get to this point. He knew he didn't need to ask—but simply out of respect and reverence for the man that owned him he did anyway, just a passing whisper of _can I_ against and into his mouth as he sucked on his tongue, because it were little gestures and words like these that made up the foundation of their already troubled and very fickle relationship.

The older man turned his head a little to be able to better look at him, gaze half-lidded yet intense and focused, but said nothing. For a moment, Adam wondered if he'd even heard him, but that shouldn't even be a question. Maybe he was thinking on it—maybe he'd read him wrong, maybe...

Or maybe Jack's answer just consisted of him grabbing one of Adam's wrists, pulling it up, and inserting two of those metallic digits into his own mouth to run his tongue over and suck at them. It took quite a bit of self-restraint to not thrust them deeper, given the appealing, irresistible image currently in front of him. His determination and indirect affirmation just made him hotter.

_Well, shit._

A couple of moments later, those fingers, now slick with spit and slightly more warm, were roughly removed and instead placed between strong thighs, penetrating him there, quick and merciless. Jack gasped through his nose, reflexively reaching for Adam's cybernetic arm with his own, his lips pressed into a thin line.

All his. He moved violently, aggressively inside him, shoving his fingers as far as he could, but Jack never even grimaced—just fixed him in place with that one-eyed, ice blue stare of his that seemed to say that he'd be a dead man if he left now.

Not that he had any plans of doing that anytime soon, so no problems there.

Regardless, Jack seemed to deem it necessary to make sure Adam wouldn't be able to retreat himself, because his hand moved lower and lower until it had settled at Adam's mechanical wrist, moving ever so subtly as he continued to repeatedly thrust his fake fingers inside him, but subtle wasn't enough for Jack.

It didn't take long until he became the one dictating the pace and angle when it came to fucking him, and Adam wasn't sure how he felt about this fact, about Jack simultanously keeping him in place and using his hand like some sort of fucktoy. Surprised? Amazed? Or even disturbed—

"Mmn," Jack hummed, starting to roughly jerk himself off with his currently unoccupied, living hand.

...Or maybe just aroused. Adam bit down hard on his bottom lip, slowly realizing that by this point, Jack was completely in control again, although he was on the receiving end. Adam would have protested, withdrawing his hand to deny Jack any self-inflicted pleasure while using him, if he weren't so completely taken in by the sight he provided, his flushed face, contracting muscles, the huge, dripping cock as well as the black prosthesis being shoved into his ass time and time again by another red one. A couple of years ago, he would've found this abnormal...

He heaved a long, heavy sigh, voice quivering. "Jack," Adam said, his own cock throbbing with need, and he hoped the other man would be able to hear it, even if he didn't see it at this angle. He either hadn't paid attention though, or simply didn't care, because he still didn't let go, just slightly turned his head to the side while his lips parted, tongue absentmindedly running over them. He was entirely focused on himself—and probably the contrast their hands provided, being applied to different centers of pleasure.

"Jack," Adam repeated, a louder and more urgent tone now, and tentatively began to pull away. Jack didn't approve, and shot him a glare, but Adam won in the end by rotating his hand once, 360 degrees—and making it pretty impossible for the other prosthesis to keep holding onto it.

"I'm not some kind of vibrator," he quipped, with a lopsided, teasing grin.

"Yeah, that's just too bad, isn't it? Maybe there's a software upgrade for that." Jack was positively pouting, but regardless of his current feelings on the matter, he moved his own limbs around to accommodate Adam better, who was getting himself situated between his legs.

"You don't prefer the real thing?" He said, and removed Jack's hand from his cock, still lazily playing with it. "Use the other one."

Jack knitted his brow at him, and Adam pinned his wrist to the mattress, right next to his head. Almost during the exact same moment, he pushed inside him in one hard stroke, causing Jack to writhe, suppressing a groan that wanted to escape from his throat.

Adam allowed himself to be a little more vocal as he finally penetrated him, mewling softly in appreciation of his warmth and tightness. The prosthesis that was currently not busy restraining the man below him gripped one of those strong thighs of his, pulling at it when he shoved his hips forward again, seeking out that engulfing heat.

"Oh man," he muttered under his own short breaths, watching Jack's body being rocked by his slow but deep thrusts, and how the older man reluctantly brought his robotic arm down between his legs, as he'd been told a minute ago. 

"You feel so god damn great." Even more so because of how limited his sense of touch was, he presumed, like a blind person would naturally have a better sense of hearing; Adam was under the impression that he was more sensitive where it mattered.

Jack said nothing in response, but he did crane his neck to get a better look at his own prosthetic as its fingers slowly, one after the other, wrapped around his cock, though he was having some trouble with Adam's harsh thrusts disrupting him every now and again. Eventually, he managed, and sank back down into the sheets, strands of dark, disheveled hair hanging wildly into his face. He closed his eye, concentrating on stroking himself with every ounce of delicacy he could muster.

Pleased by this, Adam decided that there was no longer any need to keep his other hand in check, and placed his own at his abs, shifting his own weight for more leverage when he rolled his hips to grind into him. His pace remained steady, to keep them both going for as long as possible, because he already knew that Jack needed time—might as well make the best of it.

They had very different ideas of what exactly that entailed, though.

"I'd really like a smoke, though."

Adam stared, wide-eyed and almost stopping, but instead just slammed into him so hard the next time the smack of flesh was reverberating through the room. Jack gave a confused grunt, his hand almost slipping.

"Rrgh, shut up!" He dug his smooth, round digits into the skin of his abs, dragging them down, as if that would have much effect on this nuisance. "I'm fucking you right now, in case you didn't notice!"

Jack rolled his eye back in his head and resigned, while Adam decided to indulge his oral fixation in other ways—namely, by leaning down and forcing his way past his lips, tongues tangling. If Jack complained at all—he did try to murmur something—it went ignored. Least he had something to keep his mouth busy now as well as his hand, which grasped the back of Adam's skull and, once more, wasn't about to let him go anytime soon.

He supposed he had gotten used to never really being on top, but damn if it wasn't irritating. Jack's legs moved, his ankles locking at the small of Adam's back, pushing him into each thrust, demanding more, like usual.

Pushy, pushy, pushy. He sucked hungrily on the tongue invading and exploring his mouth. Adam went faster, sweat-slick body grinding against his, grunting, panting, with Jack clenching rhythmically around him to coax, until he could take no more of this, and came with a feeble cry.

Way too soon. Jack was lucky to have predicted it, though, turning his head just in time to avoid having his tongue bitten off, and Adam slammed his forehead down on his shoulder, tensing up, holding onto his waist as he spilled into him.

When he opened his eyes again, raising his upper body so he could look down, he saw that there was no white marking red. He sighed.

"You really know how to make a man feel inadequate." And it wasn't the first time.

He felt how Jack lightly and sympathetically patted his shoulder. "It has nothing to do with you," he said, and pressed a kiss to the shell of his ear.

"Doesn't matter," he finished, then tried to get up by pushing against Adam, and he let him, at least until he was in a sitting position again with his back straight and cock sliding out of him, but then it was the younger man's turn to press him back down onto the mattress by his shoulders.

"It matters," he replied, firmly, in his typical _no-bullshit_ tone. Jack deflated when faced with that much determination and augmented muscle, running a hand through his mussed, damp hair. Of course his cock was still swollen and currently not being tended to, and Adam knew from experience that he had planned to retreat into the bathroom to finish the job himself, and that could sometimes take a while. It always left Adam with a certain feeling of shame and inadequacy, asking himself over and over again what the hell it took to be his lover—insane stamina? Or just masochism?

And the new replacement arm surely didn't make things any easier. It'd take some time getting used to, but he liked to think that this hadn't been so bad for a start. Now it was just a matter of finishing things up.

"Alright, fine," Jack said wearily, draping an arm over his eyes. "Second round?" He spread his legs, as if on cue, but Adam had no intention of fucking him again, at least not like that—he thought back to what had preceded the main act, and came to the conclusion that that was probably the best direction to take.

He exploited the fact that Jack was currently not watching him, and leaned down so that his mouth could find a dark nipple while his hands roamed the rest of his body. Jack subtly arched his back, giving a throaty noise; it was easy to tell that he did not expect this—not as much as a cock in his ass, anyway. Adam teased it with teeth and tongue, sucking gently before he kissed his way down his chest, tantalizingly slow, taking his time and making sure to taste every inch of his salty skin and every physical mark of abuse life had engraved into it.

His abs received the most attention, and Adam carefully massaged them with his digits at the same time, tracing lines of muscle, before they moved onto his cock, forming a ring at its base.

Wet lips soon followed, pressing themselves to his shaft, tongue sensually licking up his entire length, before wrapping around the head, and sliding down again until his cock hit the back of his throat. Jack rewarded him with a shaky, yet lustful sigh, and as soon as he started moving, unyielding, metallic fingers began to dig into and tug at his short, dark hair. He could almost swear he could still taste them on the hard flesh, a hint of whiskey mixed with steel...

His own five remaining fingers were not idle, either, once more circling around his asshole before two of them dipped inside, encountering no resistance as Jack was already loose and relaxed. Adam sucked harder as he pushed into him as far as the prosthesis would allow, so dedicated to his task that he was drooling as he had no time or opportunity to swallow his own spit, producing a small puddle around the man's balls consisting of his own precum and saliva.

He specifically sought out his prostrate to massage, but it was difficult, and Jack subtly adjusting his hips in response to the welcome intrusion achieved the opposite of what he probably intended. Adam groaned around him, coming up and removing him from his mouth, resulting in a displeased growl from Jack who was trying to tug him down again, but the other man resisted.

"Hold still," he grumbled, lapping at the tip of his cock and shoving the foreskin back and forth a few times, staring intently at the organ in his hand, which gave him quite a lot to work with. Maybe if he was able to take it all, but that was just impossible, even if he relied on the rebreather keeping him alive, there was still his gag reflex...

It did occur to him that something else was possible though, as he continued to curl his fingers inside his ass, grazing his inner walls. Adam licked over his own lips before kissing the head of his cock and sinking down again, shoving his fingers deeper—

And that was when Jack yanked so hard at his hair that Adam almost bit him. He quickly spat out his cock, _Jesus Christ—_

"What the hell did you just do?!" Jack demanded to know, squirming uncomfortably, and Adam had a hard time keeping his hips in place. "What do you _think_ ," he snapped a response, and when his sensory feedback eventually registered the small bump inside him, he pressed against it and began to massage it in tiny circles. And that, finally, enabled Adam to elicit a very satisfying moan out of the other man.

"That's just _weird_ , Adam!"

"If it works," Adam replied, deadpan, his manually extended fingers continuing to work his prostrate. Sure, the ability to dislocate parts of his hand probably wasn't intended to be used for sex, but human ingenuity and rescourcefulness and all that.

"Besides, don't you of all people lecture me about being weird, Mr Eccentric." And that were the last words to be coming from his mouth before it dutifully returned to work, and he didn't even mind Jack forcefully thrusting up into his mouth while yanking his head down. It meant he was close. After a while, he even rocked back against those fingers fucking him, trying to get the most friction and subsequent pleasure out of all this, apparently not caring anymore about the weirdness of having almost twice-as-long metal fingers inside his ass. Adam even inserted a third one after a few minutes, easily, and Jack responded well, rolling his hips and helping him to grind effectively against that nice sweet spot.

He seemed to enjoy all of this so much, indeed, that he didn't even see fit to give a heads-up when he was about to come, and Jack wasn't nearly vocal enough to give any kind of hint otherwise. He came suddenly and violently, hitting the back of the other man's throat, and Adam nearly choked, quickly pulling his cock out as he continued to climax in hot white bursts, his protective lenses automatically sliding back over his eyes as some of it hit his face due to Jack still not having relinquished his grasp on him.

_Great._

He reflexively swallowed down whatever was in his mouth, waiting for Jack to finish and marveling at the sheer amount of cum he was able to spurt all over his stomach, forming streams and puddles. After a minute or two, the tension finally left Jack's body, and he collapsed, panting heavily, done with the world.

Adam sat up, his hand returning to its default shape with a series of clicks and whirs. He tried to wipe at his shades, futilely, then his chin.

"I really love trying to get your cum out of my beard," he said sarcastically, removing two fingers from his face, a sticky white string composed of various fluids between them as he spread them.

Jack met his gaze, expression content, chest heaving. "You could shave it."

"Maybe if you shave yours first."

"Not in a million years."

Adam snorted, wiping his hand clean on Jack's thigh as he leaned down for a messy kiss to share the tangy-sweet taste of the older man while breathing his musk deeply, his prosthetic finding his, fingers intertwining and meshing like perfectly matching pieces of machinery, before falling asleep curled up next to and around him.

* * *

Adam woke in the middle of the night due to Jack moving and making noise again, and in his semi-conscious state, he was almost sure it was just him being unable to resist his nicotine craving and finally granting himself the smoke he'd been so adamant about having while they'd been busy with other things. 

Curiosity got the better of him though, especially seeing as Jack didn't return to his side after a few minutes, and Adam rolled over to sleepily blink up at him sitting at the edge of the bed, back turned, holding a still intact whiskey bottle in his prosthetic hand, turning it around.

Ah. So they'd made progress after all, and Adam couldn't help a goofy grin. Time for positive reinforcement.

"Wonderful, fantastic, great job, I knew you could do it, now come back to bed—"

Jack flinched in surprise—probably at both the sudden voice breaking through the silence and Adam's hands grabbing his, trying to pull him back into bed like a damn blanket, and the end result of that was not only the remaining contents of the bottle spilling all over the mattress, but also the shards of the now finally broken container.

"—Goddamnit!"

Next thing he knew, he was hit by a very solid fist, catapulting him straight out of the bed and onto the ground with a _whump_ , where he would serve as Jack's impromptu couch for the rest of the night.

Well, as he'd said, he wasn't made of glass.


	7. On Getting Sick

"Where's he?"

Adam didn't receive an immediate answer, but he was used to it by now. Fox was a soldier to the core, and he habitually prioritized tasks; whatever he was doing at that terminal right now was clearly at the top of that list. Probably checking security. Adam shifted weight from one foot to the other, waiting.

"I sent him back."

"To base? Why?" Again a delay, bridged by the sound of a busy keyboard. He finally finished, swiveling around in his chair to give Adam his attention in the small room illuminated by computer screens and other rudimentary, makeshift equipment.

"Said we didn't need him here. It's a short, private job. Not worth his time." Which was all true, Adam knew, but he could also tell there was something else. Didn't need to ask Fox why though, because he continued right on, "That's the only reasoning he would accept, anyway. Did you not notice?"

"Notice...?"

"He's sick." Well, that could mean a bunch of things, and Adam canted his head to the side, expression inquisitive. "Some sort of flu. He'd bite off and swallow his own tongue before admitting to that, though."

That explained a few things, come to think of it. His CASIE would have picked up on anything out of the ordinary, including a fever.

"Is that why he was running around with a gas mask earlier?"

Fox gave a sly, elusive grin. "Funny how we don't even question that, do we?" Adam sighed, putting a hand on his hip, not sure if he should be worried. The other man shrugged. "He probably doesn't want to pass it on to anyone else, either, so I gave him an excuse to leave. Knowing him, he's just gonna keep working and pretend nothing's wrong."

Adam thought for a moment. "Do you need me here?" He said.

"I don't think so, no. Six men are more than enough. Are you going to check up on him?"

"More like punch him in the face. If I don't find him collapsed on top of his desk already when I get back."

"Oh, don't worry," Fox said, the ghost of a smile when he turned back to the blinking terminal again, signaling an incoming call. "He's too stubborn for that. But—give him one from me too, while you're at it."

* * *

Two hours and various shortlived conversations later, Adam had found out that Big Boss had been to the infirmary to get a couple painkillers before retreating into his office, making it very clear that he did not want to see anyone until further notice.

Well. Not really Adam's problem. He was his employer, after all, and making sure that he remained healthy was part of the job, or that's what he told himself, at least. Truth was that there were a lot more complicated feelings at work, but he couldn't afford to dwell on them too much—things were complicated enough as they were, and he'd just found into a daily routine that made him feel secure and like he'd regained a semblance of control over his life again.

Perhaps that was why he went to check up on Big Boss: to make sure he'd get to keep that for a while longer. No disturbances. No risks. No sickness, no matter how harmless at first glance, to put him out of commission for god knows how long.

He had to function, that much was understood. But not like this.

"I thought I said that I don't want to see anyone."

He could see it now, inviting himself into his private quarters like he usually did—a tired, bloodshot eye, an increase in temperature according to the CASIE, fatigue so visible it was almost physically painful for himself. He didn't even sound right—raspier than usual. Adam spotted a bottle of painkillers next to his ashtray.

"I'm not anyone."

He couldn't even get sick himself, so Jack had no way to send him away on basis of that. He muttered something, wheezing quietly, hunched over the desk and reports that could be done later, trying to shoot Adam a glare—but it wasn't threatening at all.

It was more than strange to see him like that, Adam found. He was obviously not well, and yet he was too proud to just put himself into bed and shut down for a while so it wouldn't take quite so long until he was all right again. He'd rather push through like this, damn the consequences.

It really shouldn't surprise him. Adam remembered how, a couple of times, he went through an entire assignment with a bullet or two lodged in his shoulder, stomach, or thigh, without anyone else noticing until the bloodstain was so large it became really difficult to miss or ignore it.

But that was Big Boss to you. Adam already knew that trying to reason with him would yield no results, so he just went straight behind his desk, grabbing the backrest of his chair—

"What the hell, Adam? Get out of my office!"

—and shoving it and the person currently situated in it across almost the entire room, which wasn't too difficult, casters be blessed. Jack's protest at using his current seat like a wheelchair was tuned out altogether.

"You are lucky you already took some pills," he just said. "Or I would personally stuff those down your throat, too."

"Adam..." He tried to growl, but it came out as something pathetic. Meanwhile they had reached the door to his bedroom, and Adam routinely punched in the access code. One-nine-six-four. They went in. Jack tried to jump out of the chair for the first time, complaining about how he had enough of his bullshit, but Adam's reflexes were quick enough to pull him back by a shoulder in time. It wasn't until a couple moments later that he pushed him forward by the very same shoulder, unloading him on the bed in a manner that wasn't the most elegant.

But it worked, and Jack hit the bed with a grunt, face first. Adam kicked the chair aside, joining the other man on the bed, and a small tussle ensued. Given Jack's condition though—there was no real strength behind any of his blows, or even his grip—it didn't take long until Adam had overpowered and arranged him into a nice, comfortable position on his back, head on the pillow. Jack groaned.

"Rrgh! What is your problem!"

"You are my problem," Adam said, and proceeded to undress him—shirt first, then the shoes and the pants.

"Tough luck. And do you know how many I have?"

"Fox is doing a good job, and the rest can wait," Adam said, hands wandering and brushing fabric aside. Jack squirmed uncomfortably, opening his mouth to say something, but out came a violent cough. Adam frowned to himself, but continued his self-assigned task.

"Since—" The older man attempted to speak again, but it was more of a croak than anything, "Since when do you care, anyway?"

_Since when._ Good question, actually, and it caused Adam to pause for a moment. Not too long ago, he would have felt awfully tempted to take advantage of a situation like this, to knock him out, gain access to files and disable security and...

"I care. Isn't that enough?"

Not the time to dwell on that other stuff. Adam shook his head, and Jack eventually began to relax. There wasn't much he could do if Adam was so hellbent on keeping him in bed, or rather, as long as Adam was _around._

"This is ridiculous," he wheezed, his own voice dying down in his throat. Adam took off his own jacket and a couple other articles of clothing, knowing he would have to stay here for a while, then placed a mechanical and very cooling hand on Jack's forehead.

Yeah, he was positively burning up, according to his sensory feedback. That he'd even been able to stand had been nothing short of a miracle, but maybe he shouldn't expect anything less.

"Yeah, it really is ridiculous," Adam hissed, feeling some mild anger welling up. How could you be so careless and negligent of your own health? "What the hell were you even thinking?"

"Adam, it's nothing. I'm not dying. It's just—"

"The flu, I know, and people _have_ died from it before. Are you so arrogant, thinking that nothing can kill you? Wouldn't it be ironic if something so _harmless_ did?"

Jack gave a low, raspy sigh. "I'm going to die of a heart attack someday, at this rate."

"Just as anti-climatic," Adam grumbled, finally removing his hand to lay down next to the other man, placing his arm around his waist instead, after pulling the blanket up and over both of their bodies.

At last, Jack seemed to have accepted his fate of spending the rest of the evening—and the entire night, of course—in bed, with Adam, his loyal guard dog, attached to him and listening to the older man's irregular, ragged breaths and occasional coughs. It didn't take long for him to close his eye, but Adam could tell that he wasn't sleeping yet, nor about to. But at least he was calm now. It wasn't like Adam had wanted to stress him out further, but sometimes he didn't give you much of a choice.

He really wondered what went through his head in that moment. Unconsciously, Adam shifted closer, his chin against his shoulder, watching his face. Jack didn't seem bothered, perhaps because he was used to it. Everybody looked up to him.

"Why do you keep doing this to yourself?" Adam eventually asked, keeping his own gravel voice low. Jack didn't answer immediately, and for a second Adam thought he had fallen asleep after all, but then—

"I can't be weak," Jack told him, tone distant, after a moment's rumination. "She wouldn't approve of it."

"She?"

"My..." He trailed off, and said nothing else, and Adam could see him knitting a brow. Had he even meant to say that out loud?

Either way, it didn't feel right to push further, and he quickly pushed the image of Megan out of his own mind. He understood just fine even without all the details—that he was under the impression that because he was a leader, and the person all the others relied on, he couldn't afford to be vulnerable. It was an admirable attitude to have, but also incredibly foolish, in Adam's opinion.

But what could he say?

He settled for a soft, "Look at me." Jack didn't do so at once, but eventually, slowly, he turned his head and opened his eye again. It was glazed over. Adam could notice him subtly shifting closer to him.

"You really gotta stop pushing yourself so hard, and take more care of yourself. I know you don't want to disappoint people... but do you think anyone would be disappointed about you being human? It's okay to let them know if you're ill or hurt, Jack. No one's gonna hold it against you. I know I'm not. I was more upset being told that you were acting like this. After all," and that's where he paused, with a slight grin, "I'm the one who's part machine. Not you."

Jack, now in a daze, blinked once, twice, processing. "Lots of words, I know," Adam quickly added. "You can think about them later."

He had to think about them himself later, too. Saying all of that had felt natural, but rationally, he couldn't explain it. Why _did_ he care so much? About this man, of all people, with _terrible_ at the top of the list of descriptors Adam had found for him. _Infuriating_ was a close second.

Said terrible, infuriating man was now burying his face in Adam's shoulder, and Adam laid his other arm around his, facilitating an awkward embrace neither of them did seem to mind. He felt Jack's slightly trembling hands at his back, fingers digging weakly into the skin, as if they were grasping at it.

Adam found himself holding his breath for a couple of moments, exhaling air very suddenly when Jack spoke again. Why did he feel like he had just opened the window to something he wasn't meant to see?

_Just us, though_ , he told himself.

"I really hate it, you know," Jack said.

"What," Adam responded, tone flat, body going rigid.

"When they leave." Jack's face and breath were hot against his shoulder. He massaged the older man's neck with one of his hands, trying to occupy himself as he listened. "After I've given them everything I have to give, they abandon me. For greater things. Ideologies. Families. Peace. But I remain here, and I can't move on like they do."

"And you ask yourself..."

"If I wasn't good enough. If I was too soft. If I should have tried harder. If I should have been more ruthless."

His grip tightened. Adam held him.

"So you keep pushing. Don't you have any mercy left for yourself?"

No response, this time, but his shoulders began to quiver after a moment, and Adam was certain he could feel something distinctly wet at his own.

He didn't want to point it out, or comment on it, but he swallowed hard, offering comfort to the best of his ability. It was surreal.

After some minutes had passed, he just said, "I'm not leaving." He believed his own words.

Not that he could, anyway, with Jack holding like he did, grasp unrelenting despite his circumstantial weakness, even as he eventually, thankfully, drifted off to sleep, and rested.

* * *

"—So I had to personally cancel the session and drag him over to the infirmary. I just can't believe anyone would run around with a broken arm, much less spar with it, and act like it's no big deal."

_How droll._ "Wonder who he got  _that_ from," Adam said, languidly leaning back in his very comfortable seat, one arm draped over the backrest of the couch, legs crossed. He took another drag from his cigarette, watching Jack as he shrugged out of his coat after a long day of physical exercise and running around outside. The first day in a while, and of course he had nothing better to do than push himself again as soon as the fever was gone and his voice stable enough to bark orders.

Jack responded to Adam's remark with an exasperated sigh. "Right, I know, save it." And then he went to fetch himself a bottle of scotch from the cabinet. Adam rolled his eyes, unseen behind his reflective lenses. There were a couple of things he wanted to say, all related to health and taking care of oneself, but maybe he really shouldn't talk when it came to these things—he could afford not to look after himself, so he didn't, and Jack would just throw that fact right at his head. And it was his body, so...

"Well—I'm glad you're up to snuff again."

Jack snorted, returning and twisting the cap off the bottle. "It's been two weeks. Probably would have been longer if you hadn't insisted on confining me to the bed, I was told."

"Like I said. You shouldn't be so casual about a 'casual' illness." Adam decided not to mention that he knew about how he'd had serious trouble breathing for a few days, which he'd spent in the medical ward. He was satisfied enough with him admitting that Adam had been the more sensible one out of the two of them.

"I suppose," Jack said, thoughtfully. "Thanks." He raised the bottle to his mouth.

"For what?"

"Being considerate." Then he sat down, next to Adam—but keeping a respectable distance.

"One of us needs to compensate for your lack of common sense," Adam replied, before placing the still lit cigarette between his lips again, smoke trailing. He wasn't sure what to think, and uncomfortable silence lingered for a few moments. There was no real reason for him to be staying here any longer, there was work to do and smalltalk wasn't his forte, anyway...

"So," he heard Jack's voice again, a little softer this time. Adam cast him a sidelong glance; he slouched, both hands holding onto and playing with the bottle in his lap. "Two weeks."

"Hn."

"Did you...? With anyone else, I mean—not that it's any of my business, but."

_Hold it right there._ Adam almost bit off half of his cigarette and choked on the smoke; that was definitely not the kind of question he'd expected. Not his business. Was that a joke?  _Since when?_

Perhaps there were perks to being someone's pet for so long—after a while, they started being considerate back.

"Uh," he said after putting his smoldering smoke in the ashtray in front of him, because he couldn't think of anything better. Perhaps he really shouldn't say anything, and Jack was still fidgeting, probably due to his fears and worries relating to  _not being good enough._ More time passed, no answer came, and Jack looked up when Adam shifted closer, leaning forward and into a kiss that Jack probably perceived as rather sudden, judging by that startled breath.

It was rather chaste and didn't last very long, and when they parted again, Jack said, "—I'll take that as a no." Adam remained close, lips hovering over his, forehead against forehead.

"Would it bother you?"

"I haven't made up my mind yet." His own eye was searching for Adam's, which was difficult, as he was only seeing his own reflection, so his gaze flitted back and forth. Ultimately he settled on just shutting his eye after quickly placing the bottle down on the floor so it wouldn't get in the way of some slightly more intense mouth on mouth action. Adam indulged him all too willingly; if he was honest to himself, it  _had_ been pretty hard keeping his hands to himself during some of those nights, when his unnaturally hot, sweaty body had been pressed against his.  _Considerate_ had probably been the best word to describe his attitude, in hindsight.

Their hands quickly found shoulders and hair to hold onto; Jack's right one was cupping his cheek, applying some mild pressure so he'd tilt his head further for him to deepen their kiss. Adam let him have that too, until a familiar sound caused him to pause and look at him, his face no longer a shade of renaissance gold.

"Eh..."

And then again. Jack wasn't directly looking into his eyes, and now Adam recognized what his fingers were playing with.

"I had no idea you could do this manually."

Adam blinked, slowly, and Jack pushed the tiny button in the rim of his implanted sunglasses another time, and another—shades on, shades off, shades on...

"Stop that," Adam hissed.

He didn't, like most boys that have just discovered an interesting new feature on their favorite toy.

"I said stop it!"

He tried to hit him square in the face and missed, but the blow and his momentum were still powerful enough to topple the couch. 

"It's been one day and already you are being insuffe—!"

_Whump._ Both the scotch and Jack were now all over the carpet, the latter on his back, and Adam didn't mind that he'd ended up on top of him with a huff, giving a growl that went along nicely with Jack's grunts.

" _Insufferable_ ," Adam finished his own sentence, grinding Jack into the floor who in turn just started to laugh, and god help him, but it was contagious, so Adam had to put some conscious effort into keeping his own expression stern.

"Aaahhh... I apologize." Yeah, and he sounded totally  _earnest_ about it, too. "I still feel a bit under the weather, or I would've thrown you off by now." His hips gave Adam a playful shove, who didn't budge. "How about we go grab some dinner, then head to bed."

It was not a bad suggestion, but a somewhat—disappointing one? "Oh, right. So you can dive right back into work tomorrow, and your plans for world domination."

Jack gave a long, suffering sigh. "Actually I took the day tomorrow off. I assume I'll still need the energy, and unlike you, I can't just eat a candy bar to—"

_Not this shit again_. "Energy bars," Adam corrected him, sharply.

"Yeah, whatever. Now are you gonna let me get to my feet? I mean, it's up to you..."

He didn't miss that thigh between his legs, moving around subtly and promising more, but at a later time. Two weeks. He supposed he could wait another day, and so Adam stood, extending a pitch-black hand to help Jack up and off the ground.

"Fine. But I choose what we'll have," he said, intentionally making it sound ambiguous. Jack dusted himself off and cleared his battered throat, before following Adam out of the room.

"Sure, anything you want."

* * *

_It was a day before Adam had to call the doctors that Jack began to have delirious fever dreams, his illness at its peak. He tried to ignore it at first—finishing one book and starting with the next one, distracting himself with trivial writing and science fiction novels while making sure that Jack was cared for, hopefully ensuring a swift recovery._

_No matter how hard he concentrated on the text in front of him, though, Jack's incoherent strings of words and names bore themselves into his mind; apologies made to people he had never heard of (_ Adam-ska? _) and who he assumed to be long gone, but still haunting him in his dreams, just like all the battles that were over and done with. In light of this, it suddenly made sense to Adam that he barely ever rested. He never slept longer than necessary in order to escape the nightmares; to stay awake and remain in the present._

_But it was better he suffered now, for however long it took, than risking long lasting damage to himself and everyone else. That's what Adam told himself. He buried himself in his current book again, and it wasn't until Jack feebly called his name—definitely his this time—that he looked up, catching sight of him rolling to his side and almost out of bed. Adam dropped whatever he was holding in his hands, it didn't matter, and rushed to his side, making himself an obstacle to keep the older man in bed and on his back. Adam sat down, both of his prosthetic hands at his shoulders, gently pressing him against the mattress._

_He looked outworn and sorely afflicted by something that was out of Adam's reach_ , _wheezing, eye wide open and yet seeing right through the man above him. Adam forced himself to look, but it just intensified that sinking feeling. This wasn't just a flu. Not for him, not for someone that was host to all kinds of grievances and exploitation and unrealistic demands of the people he surrounded himself with._

_He could have a cold or a broken heart and either would make him more vulnerable than he could ever afford to be. Adam held him in place when he wanted move again, opening his mouth to exhale a shaky breath._

_"It's fine, I'm here," Adam said. "Rest."_

_"I'm sorry," the other man replied, voice strained, a broken record. Adam shook his head. No matter how tempting it was to ask what exactly he was sorry for, he knew he didn't want to take advantage of his current state of mind._

_"It's fine," he repeated._

_"I made you ill, Adam. I knew, and I didn't care... I made you ill," he croaked._ Parasite _, a word shot through Adam's mind. Again, he shook his head, and forced a smile._

_"You didn't. I have that medical implant, remember? I can't get sick, no matter what. It'll get rid of any infection before the incubation period is over."_

_Jack produced an unintelligible noise in the back of his throat that sounded both desperate and tragically amused._

_"No... it keeps happening. There's no going back. No cure. You'll die, sooner or later. Everyone dies. I'm so sorry, Adam."_

_"Jack..."_

_"Please," he muttered, aimlessly reaching for something to hold onto, and Adam grabbed his hand, keeping it still, his own heart beating fast._

_"Punish me while you can. You should—"_

_"I won't do that," Adam interrupted him, squeezing his fingers firmly. "I can make my own damn choices and think for myself. And right now, I want you to shut up. I want you to be healthy."_

I want you.

_"Then you're a fool," Jack said, wrestling his hand out of Adam's mechanical grip. "Like everyone else."_

__

* * *

He could still taste their dinner on his tongue when Jack kissed him (chicken casseroles and merlot wine, very good and not something they have nearly often enough, in Adam's opinion) voluptously and without haste, both of them naked and huddled together in bed. For the first time in what felt like forever by this point Jack was the one leading, so Adam could just relax comfortably in the sheets with the older man above him, currently claiming his mouth and lazily running a hand through his hair, the other stroking his stomach... but never going below his waist line. Yes, he knew this wasn't really supposed to go anywhere tonight just yet, but if Jack continued kissing him like that, making it so very easy let himself go while he soaked up all the attention... well, he couldn't guarantee for anything.

God, when did he even start fancying men. It took all of Adam's willpower to push Jack away, elbowing him in the ribs when he didn't remove himself at first. Jack responded with a grunt, shifting from his side onto his back and into a more comfortable position, but he apparently saw no need to relocate that arm around his waist.

That was acceptable. They remained like this, with Jack nuzzling against his neck, and Adam closed his eyes, hoping to find some rest himself despite so many things and feelings demanding to be evaluated and put into perspective.

Later.

"Say, Adam."

Or not.

"...Yeah?" He responded, groggily. Jack pressed a kiss to his ear.

"Are you happy with the way things are now?"

_Do we have to talk about this now_ , Adam wanted to say. He really hoped Jack didn't expect any deep, smart answers from him, not when he was still trying to ignore how pent up he was after this whole ordeal. Sometimes it was just way more convenient to let your hormones take over without questioning them.

But here was this man, who had more or less beaten him into submission, declared him his property, humiliated and broken him only to fix him back up a second time, asking him if he was _happy_.

"Happy's a strong word. But... I guess I don't mind."

"So... you're gonna stay."

He stifled a yawn. "Mh." _Until further notice_.

"Good," Jack went on, sounding perfectly casual and at the same time _brutally honest_ despite his words. "'Cause if you ever run away, I might end up having to kill you."

Adam frowned deeply, turning his head and giving Jack an incredulous stare. Why was he not surprised. He refused to let this comment ruin the mood, however.

"That's the shittiest love confession I've ever heard."

Jack let out a rumbling chuckle, eye crinkling, a dangerous glint to it in the dim light. "Don't flatter yourself. You're mine, that's all."

That statement still didn't bother him as much as it should. Perhaps Jack had been right. If he was truly sick, though, he felt like he was in good company.

"Sure, Boss."


	8. On Radio Support

"Are you done yet?"

Adam very nearly banged his head against the ceiling of the air vent he was currently squeezing himself into, accompanied by a startled inhale of breath at the familiar sound of an incoming call. Then he cursed at it, subvocally, of course. Bless the innovations of modern communication technology.

"What? No! Stop calling me, I'm in the middle of—"

"Why are you taking so long? Are you redecorating the lobby or something? You just need to hack into the main data frame."

 _Just._ Nevermind that hacking the personal computer of every single employee was much more entertaining.

"And if I take the entire day," Adam growled, and hung up.

* * *

"Adam, I forgot to tell you—"

"You forgot to tell me that there's an additional security detail right before the main server room consisting of two boxguards, cameras, and machine gun turrets each!"

"Yeah, that. Is that why the entire building's currently on high alert? Don't tell me you're having problems, unforeseen obstacles or not."

"Hrrrggh." Again Adam terminated the transmission, dodging bullets and running to take cover behind a vending machine and hoping that, by some small and unlikely miracle, it dispensed EMP grenades and not just soda.

* * *

"Adam."

" _Yes I am done_ ," came the immediate reply this time, as he was finally out of the imminent danger of getting killed. Didn't emerge out of that fight without a couple wounds, which was why he was waiting for the Sentinel RX health system to finish patching him up. He'd need some proper medical attention later, but this would do for now.

"Finally. Where are you right now?"

"Take a look at your damn monitor."

"I can't. I'm having dinner; they made beef goulash and dumplings. Delicious."

  
"Good for you," groaned Adam, getting up from his crouch and looking for a ride – that motorcycle over there was very conveniently parked close to his current position.

"I'll be on my way to the hotel, then. Expect me by tomorrow." There was a short delay, and Adam assumed that he was busy swallowing a bite, which just served to remind him of his own growling stomach and depleted energy reserves.

"Call me when you're there," Big Boss said.

 _Like hell I will_ , Adam thought.

"Right."

* * *

Adam was biting into a sandwich he had found in the fridge, wrapped in some plastic. Truth be told he had no idea if it was spoiled already, but it tasted fine and he was just way too lazy to go out and buy himself something proper to eat. Like so often, his medical implant would probably take care of the worst of it, so it didn't matter.

"I know you're at the hotel. Weren't you supposed to call me?"

"I forgot," Adam replied, nonchalantly and still chewing, something that would definitely be audible to the other man this time, as he was in no mood to carry on any of these conversations in his head. Talking to himself was only slightly less insane, but it wasn't like anyone was even around to tell him that.

"Sure you did," Big Boss said, not believing him. "Enjoy dinner?"

Adam snorted and rolled his eyes. "Stop bothering me already. Are you that bored? We'll talk tomorrow."

"So sorry you're feeling bothered by me wanting to know about your current status."

"My current status is _fine_ , no thanks to you," Adam said, swallowed, and pushed his chair back. He routinely worked open the clasps and fasteners on his combat vest on his way to the bathroom, shrugging out of it. "Do you know how difficult it is to concentrate on anything with you chewing my ear off?"

"I have that effect on people," Big Boss quipped, and Adam had to inwardly admit that he was right. He sighed, giving himself a once-over in the mirror, his right prosthetic stroking over his chin. The couple wounds he'd received were healing up nicely, and he didn't even have to trim his beard just yet. But the most surprising bit was that he could look at himself in the mirror at all; that he didn't feel repulsed by his own reflection anymore. Progress.

There was silence for a bit, until Adam said, "I'm about to shower now, so if you don't mind..." He trailed off, hoping that the other man would understand the message. He turned to the shower stall.

"So what?"

 _Seriously?_ "What do you mean, _so what_. What the hell is there to talk about when I'm showering?"

Couldn't he have even a few minutes to himself—

"You showering," replied the older man. "Sounds interesting."

For a moment, Adam debated punching the mirror regardless, if only to imagine he was actually hitting the guy he was currently talking to.

"I'm hanging up on you," he said, voice deadpan, and he did just that right after getting rid of his pants and stepping into the shower. Predictably his HUD displayed the INCOMING CALL message not even a minute later, and thanks to how his software was configured, he couldn't even block his boss's frequency.

That would've been too easy, after all.

"So, you showering?"

" _Jack._ " Yes he was, the warm water running over his patchwork body and washing away the worst of the day, but Adam decided to make it quick. He was used to the constant feeling of being watched by this point, but he thought that even he had a right to some minuscule amount of privacy. Unfortunately Jack didn't seem to give a rat's ass about anyone's privacy, invading it whenever the hell he felt like it.

Adam inhaled sharply, leaning against the shower wall, feeling very exposed, like so often.

"Don't tell me you're jerking off," he growled.

"Not yet." He felt the sudden urge to slam his head against the tiles. Adam turned the water off without having properly lathered himself up, grabbed a towel to wrap it around his waist, and stepped out of the shower stall again. He said nothing, but that didn't seem to bother Jack, as he went right on.

"Oh, come on, Adam. It's a good method for unwinding. You wouldn't act like that if I was there."

"If you were here I'd punch you in _your fucking face_." He headed back into the bedroom, hastily toweling himself with a second towel.

"Uh huh. I'd dodge and push you down, with ease."

"And then _I'd_ stab you in the throat."

Jack laughed. "That's not very sexy," he said.

"It's not?" Adam replied, with feigned incredulity. "Sorry, I guess I just don't get how this is supposed to work. Better you call someone else."

"Adam," Jack tried again, voice softer. "Just play along."

Adam thought, looking out of the window. Part of him wanted to spite the other man by grabbing a prostitute off the street and having fun with her instead, but he wasn't the kind of man for that, and Jack knew that, too.

He relented, eventually, with a disgruntled sigh. "Will you leave me alone after that?"  
"Sure. Promise."

Adam wasn't quite sure how much a promise made by him meant, especially in that context, but he had a feeling that he wouldn't get much sleep that night either way. He ran a hand over his face and then through his damp, short hair.

"Okay..."

"Okay," Jack echoed. "Are you near the bed? I want you to lie down."

He did as he was told, tugging at the towel around his waist to rid himself of it, then climbed onto the bed and got comfortable by rolling onto his back. This was going to be awkward. So, so awkward. Sex was already awkward enough when the other person was in the room and actively touching him. The only upside to it was that really no one had to deal with his prosthetics like this, even if Jack had gotten used to them.

"I'm lying down," Adam said, legs propped up and one arm draped over his unconceiled eyes.

"Are you naked?"

"Yeah."

He could hear Jack exhale a low breath, but it was hard to tell what he was doing otherwise. Adam wasn't quite sure if he wanted to know, though he was mildly curious.

"Touch yourself."

"Where," Adam asked, just to be obnoxious.

"Wherever you want. Two fingers into your mouth." Adam frowned to himself.

"You realize this isn't going to work so well," he said, one mechanical, unfeeling hand roaming his own body, his chest and stomach, the other palm covering his jaw before he relucantly inserted two cold fingers into his mouth, as Jack had demanded, pressing against his own tongue. He didn't even have to guess where those two would be going next, but whatever made Jack happy and docile and hopefully less of a nuisance for the rest of the night.

"That's why you imagine me doing it." Adam sucked on his own fingers for a few moments, unable to speak, then removed them again, now covered in saliva.

"You feel different," he said, trying to remain his own mechanical self and going through the motions.

"Different how?"

"Warm. Not like me."

"You'll feel warm soon."

He hoped that was a promise, because his other hand had wrapped itself around his flaccid cock, and that wasn't a particularly nice feeling, but the only way of making it feel better was to keep moving. He'd still rather have someone else's hand there, or none at all.  
"Spread your legs," he was told next. "And put them inside."

"I'm supposed to fuck myself, you mean," Adam murmured, closing his eyes and trying to imagine something slightly more arousing then the ceiling of his hotel room. Those two, wet digits eventually reached their destination too, and Jack got his will when he penetrated past a tight ring of muscle, grimacing and squeezing his own cock as he instinctively arched his hips.

Stupid fucking prosthetic.

"I don't like this," Adam complained, both of his cold hands moving while his face felt like it was burning up.

"You'd rather have my cock?" If Jack was doing something similar right now—jerking himself off—it wasn't audible in his voice.

"Your cock and your hands, fuck. This is so—hngh, stupid, you know that? You're stupid."

"Of course," Jack replied, calmly. "Tell me what you'd have me do."

All those terrible things he wasn't supposed to want. Adam turned his head and bit down on his own bottom lip, his hands still working relentlessly and starting to warm up. He decided that it was probably best not to think too much, so he didn't when he spoke again, just concentrating on trying to get himself off.

"Suck me off," he drawled, a slight strain to his voice. He heard Jack chuckle. "Then fuck me hard with your huge cock until it hurts."

"Mh."

"And your hand furiously jacking me off, until I can't fucking take it anymore."

"Sounds like a plan," Jack whispered, voice dark and low. "Are you very hard?"

"I'm close. Just a bit more—" Just a bit deeper, some harsher tugs, and he twisted his hips, rocking into his own prosthetic.

"Not yet, Adam," Jack said, and Adam obeyed with a groan.

"Don't be a jerk, nnh. You've met your jerk quota for today, don't you think."

Another soft rumble of a laugh, but Jack remained silent otherwise, while Adam had to rein himself in—and all of a sudden, that was more annoying than him talking, especially since he couldn't hear any panting or ragged gasps. Adam himself had a hard time keeping his own breathing steady, really getting into it now.

"You're quiet," he almost moaned, thrusting deeper.

"I'm listening to you," Jack replied, sounding very sober. "I love your voice. The way it sounds right now..."

 _I love yours, too._ "Ugh, Jack..."

"Yeah, just like that. That's—"

"Can I _come_ already?"

By this point, Adam was almost sure that Jack wasn't doing anything with himself, but he was far too gone to care. Maybe he just got off to listening to other people masturbate to his voice, but that wasn't his problem right then.

Jack gave a shaky sigh, and after some deliberation, he said, "Yeah, okay."

It didn't take long, and when Adam inevitably reached his climax—quite vocally so—Jack remained eerily quiet for as long as it lasted and some time after that.

Finally.

* * *

Adam resented the fact that he had to get up from bed to fetch himself some tissues so he could wipe his own stomach and hands clean. He'd just been so comfy and pleasantly tired, and no voice in his head bothering him.

Of course, that didn't last.

"Adam—"

"You promised!" Adam almost yelled, finally cracking and losing his patience. Okay, so maybe that hadn't been so bad, but he still wanted some peace and quiet to himself, just for a few goddamn hours, was that too much to ask?

"Uh," came the dumbfounded reply. "I just wanted to say sorry, and good night."

"Oh."

"We'll talk tomorrow."

"Yeah. Talk." And then, for the first time, it was the older man's turn to hang up. Adam padded from the kitchen back to the bed, and just as he'd promised, Jack didn't call anymore. Wonderful, perfect. He rolled from one side of the bed to the other.

And back again, unable to sleep. It was really fucking quiet, and was that just his imagination or could he hear a couple in the next room having wild, raunchy sex?

"Rrrgh."

An hour passed, and eventually—

"Hey, Boss."

"...Are you kidding me?"


	9. On Getting Company

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but I don't think your objectives for that particular run included getting a dog."

"I got a dog?" Big Boss says, thrusting the half-starved, shivering ball of fur into Adam's prosthetic hands. "I think you got a dog." Then he turns around with a grunt, retreating to one corner of the messy apartment that's already more reminiscent of a battlefield than anything else, despite having been here only for a few days, while Adam turns around the pup he's holding, lifting it up to eyelevel to get a better look.

Can't be older than half a year. Probably mixed breed, some kind of mongrel. Going by his shy if not outright fearful demeanor and general state of his fur, it's probably a stray that hasn't made the best experiences with humans during his short life. Adam moves him around slightly to see that a hind leg is missing, and where the tail is supposed to be remains only a stump. He gives a soft, miserable whine. Adam looks up when he hears Big Boss drop some of his heavy equipment, and watches him wander over to the kitchenette.

"Found nothing better this time?"

Big Boss seems vaguely irritated by something, and pours himself a glass of scotch, downing it in one. Adam's cradling the pup in his arms without really thinking about it, but he keeps on wailing, gradually increasing in volume.

"I gave him a bite to eat, but then he kept on following me around," he explained, sounding bitter and gesturing towards the dog. "Which didn't really bother me at first, but he started to howl or bark whenever I was about to leave him behind, and I'm sure you can see the problem in that."

"Mh."

Big Boss crosses his arms over his chest, looking to the side. "I wanted to end it, but--"

"But?"

"It reminded me of something I read once, so I... didn't." He frowns looking at the mutt again, who still refuses to be quiet. Adam doesn't seem too bothered, but arches a brow, subtly.

"You can read?"

Big Boss chucks the glass at his head. Adam catches it with one hand and delicately places it down on a nearby surface.

"Anyway," the older man continues, tone perfectly level and calm, "I trapped him in a box to pick up later. You mentioned something about owning a dog before so I thought--" He shrugs, helplessly. "I don't even know. If you don't want him we can drop him off again later. There's got to be an animal shelter somewhere around here."

Adam doesn't reply, and Big Boss doesn't seem to know what else to say regarding the matter, so he crosses the room to enter the adjacent one, which serves as their office, tech lab and communication center all at once. "I gotta write some stuff down."

That leaves Adam to be alone with the poor, miserable creature in his arms, still yelping between drawn out whines. Adam thinks for a moment, then pulls out a chair to sit down, placing the pup in his lap.

He takes a closer look at his missing leg, mentally debating if he could design and put together a simple, basic prosthetic himself. The tail he can probably continue to live without, but his chances of survival aren't very high with a constant limp. Then again, there is no way of knowing if he wouldn't just chew the prosthetic off because he doesn't understand that it's meant to help him, or because it hurts, or...

Idly, Adam's mechanical fingers begin to stroke over the pup's fur, along his spine and then further up to apply a little more pressure behind one of his lop ears. The animal begins to howl loudly, almost panicked, and ducks his head instinctively, probably expecting to be hit. But when nothing of that sort happens, he gradually calms down, and after a few minutes, he's quiet altogether.

Out of the corner of his artificial retina, Adam spots him wag his little stump, even leaning into the touch now, apparently not minding the feeling of cold metal anymore. Adam cants his head to the side, considering this.

_Well, aren't you lucky it was him._

Big Boss enters the room again with a long, suffering sigh, running a hand through his tousled hair. Adam stands but doesn't acknowledge his presence with more than a curt nod, placing the dog down on the ground and walking over to the kitchenette. Predictably, the pup follows, excitedly limping behind him.

"Huh," he hears Big Boss say, sounding mildly surprised, as he looks through the cupboards for a yet unused and clean bowl to fill with some water. He puts it down on the ground, and the dog immediately moves to drink from it, producing slobbery noises.

"He's quiet?"

"Of course," Adam responds, eyeing the dishes that have started to pile up with slight disgust. "You're just not very good with dogs."

"I'm good with most kinds of dogs, you should know best," Big Boss says, with a shit-eating grin.

Adam chucks a plate at his head. Big Boss catches it with one hand and delicately places it down on a nearby surface, right next to a glass, an overflowing ashtray, parts of a dissassembled handgun, various dirty pieces of cutlery, two empty pizza cartons that are starting to smell, and a torn condom wrapper.

"So you're gonna keep him?"

"His name is Murphy," Adam grates, hoping that is enough of an answer.

"Murphy? Like the engineer, the one that came up with that law? You're such a cynic."

Adam blinks slowly behind his lenses, delaying his answer. Big Boss waves his hand dismissively, moving to pick up his equipment again and relocate it to the other room.

"Yes, Boss," he says eventually, seeing no point in trying to explain the merits of timeless movie classics from the 80s to him, "Like the engineer."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big Boss is referring to the chapter, "The murdered puppy" in Che Guevara's "Reminiscences of the Cuban Revolutionary War", in which a much similar situation occurs.


	10. On Personal Problems

Jack stares at the two figures sprawled lazily across the mattress with his own arms crossed, trying his best to make his disapproval perfectly clear in both posture and expression and then, voice.

“I think two dogs in my bed is one too many.”

Adam doesn’t appear particularly perturbed by that statement, and continues to stroke the belly of his now full grown pet, happily lying on his stomach, tongue hanging out and drooling on the recently changed sheets, like dogs tend to do. Aside from that, he managed to get his hair everywhere, very visibly so as it contrasts nicely against the white fabric.

Okay, maybe he isn’t the cleanest, most orderly person himself, but he prefers not to sleep in a bed covered in dog slobber and hair if he can help it. But it’s not Adam’s bed, so of course he doesn’t see much of a problem. He didn’t see much of a problem using Jack’s bathroom to bathe the dog after a couple of rounds in the muddy courtyard, either, making a mess of things and further improving Jack’s ability to read animal footprints.

It still smells like wet dog, and that was two weeks ago. He’s seriously starting to doubt if adopting that pest had been a good idea in the first place, seeing how Adam doesn’t pass up any opportunity to annoy Jack with the dog’s assistance.

“Sounds like a personal problem,” he eventually acknowledges Jack’s presence with a shrug, paying more attention to Murphy, who’s literally basking in it, his stump of a tail rhythmically hitting the mattress in short intervals, all three paws and the prosthesis extended.

Jack narrows his eye at the nonchalance displayed, steps around the bed, grasps the sheets, and then tugs at them, sharply. Both Adam and the dog loudly end up on the ground of the other side of it, yelping.

Jack sighs, exasperated, and climbs onto the mattress, reclaiming it. Murphy barks and almost immediately attempts to jump back up, but Jack aggressively pushes him off again while futilely trying to wipe some of that hair off. His territory.

Adam straightens up, too, just as his pet is about to resign, giving a whine as he places his furry head at the edge of the bed, apparently trying to persuade Jack to let him back up with a pleading look.

“How rude,” Adam says, sitting on the floor.

“Personal problem,” Jack replies, echoing his words from before. “Now bring the dog outside. The kitchen might work, too—the oven, specifically.” There’s a sharp edge to the last part, and Adam grimaces, because he knows that it’s hard to tell if Jack’s kidding when it comes to matters of food.

So he complies, reluctantly, and gets up, leading Murphy outside, who excitedly trails behind him. Jack has to admit that he trained him pretty well and with dedication, at least, because he rarely witnesses Adam having trouble with his pet, so obviously he must know what he’s doing.

Jack continues to clean up the bed to the best of his ability in a vain effort to make it a little bit more comfortable, before situating himself at the head of it. Casting a last glance at Adam before he is momentarily out of sight, Jack reaches for the book he’s currently reading on the nightstand, not really assuming that his partner will be back, considering he likes to spend more time with himself and the dog he was gifted lately.

_Birds of a feather…_

He’s wrong this time, though, because the moment he opens the page he’d stopped at last time, Adam delicately removes the book from his hands, places it aside, and climbs onto his lap instead, which the older man acknowledges with a grunt. He leans to the side to look past Adam and check if the dog really remained outside, and that seems to be the case. Adam puts both of his prosthetic hands on Jack’s naked arms, his weight resting on his thighs, before leaning forward and down to bury his face in his neck.

“Ow,” Jack exclaims, as Adam continues to press his face into his skin. “I said, _ow_.” This time, it’s a growl, and Adam—knowing what he’s referring to—shifts around, grumbling and placing his chin on Jack’s shoulder instead, so the protruding rims of his surgically implanted glasses no longer cut into his skin.

Only then does the other man touch him back, running a warm hand up his spine to settle at his neck, massaging it with low pressure. Adam doesn’t say anything, but relaxes noticeably, his breath shallow and steady, his back slightly curved.

“I really gotta wonder, sometimes,” Jack says, his free hand going for the book once more Adam had so rudely taken from him before, “Who’s the needier one, between the two of you.”

A moment of silence passes, and then Jack drops his book again, giving a yelp as Adam bites into his shoulder, _hard._


	11. On Cleaning Up Your Mess

" _God_ damnit," Jack hissed sharply, craning his neck and squirming under Adam's comfortably cool hands, which were still applying the gauze compress. "Would it hurt you to be a little bit more careful? You know at least that'd be _fair_ for once!"

"Shut it already," Adam grumbled, and while he instinctively wanted to give the man some backtalk, he was fully aware that this little mishap had been entirely his fault. He made use of his ceramic blades very rarely, and usually only when he was going solo, so he hadn't really considered Jack possibly being in the way and all. The wound wasn't very deep—only about an inch—and probably wouldn't give him much trouble; the blade had merely grazed his torso. But he felt pretty guilty about it regardless.

Mostly because he knew that a few inches could have made all the difference between life and death.

Jack sighed, sinking back into the sheets, grimacing. Thank god he was a stubborn bastard and very difficult to keep down—most people Adam surrounded himself with didn't last very long for some reason, something Jack knew all too well himself, but that had never seemed to bother him.

"There, all done," he said, once he was done awkwardly wrapping the bandages around his waist, his own black fingers covered in dark red blood that had dried up in the meantime. Hadn't been able to keep the sheets of the bed completely pristine, either, so he made a mental note to get rid of them later. Given they had just invited themselves into this high class, thankfully unoccupied hotel room by using the balcony, mostly to avoid uncomfortable questions, leaving too many obvious traces behind probably wouldn't be very smart.

Given how unresponsive Jack was at the moment—breathing quietly, eye shut and probably mulling something over—Adam assumed that they'd be staying for the night. That hadn't exactly been their initial plan, but then again they hadn't exactly planned on accidentally sustaining injuries, either.

Adam watched Jack's chest rise and fall. "I'm sorry," he said, after a while.

"Don't worry about it," Jack replied after a minor delay, draping his prosthetic arm over his eyes, presumably to shield himself from the bright light of the ceiling lamp and cool himself down. Adam didn't know what else to say, so he stood to go wash his hands and get rid of his combat vest, then the top underneath. The climate was pretty hot and humid in this region during late August, so he opened both balcony doors to let some fresh-yet-stale air in, tainted by the crime ridden, pulsing metropolis below. He was pretty sure he could hear a police siren somewhere in the distance, for the fifth time since they'd arrived here, if he'd counted right. Just the perfect place to get some dirty work done for all sorts of clients.

"What a shithole," he said.

"A very lucrative one." Adam cast the figure on the bed a sidelong glance, arms crossed over his chest.

"You couldn't care less about the money."

"I suppose," Jack admitted, finally forcing himself into an upright sitting position, while Adam trotted over to the small fridge to see if anything useful was in there. In the back Jack still went on, "But I feel like I'm getting too old for the part I actually do care about."

 _Huh,_ Adam thought, and discovered a bottle of vodka. What a godsend, truly, and he picked up a glass from the nearby cabinet.

"How old are you, again?"

"Technically?" The distinctly older man had to think on that for a moment. "Ninety-eight." Jack snorted a laugh. "I feel like a relict."

"You're doing well for a relict," Adam said, and offered him that glass, some clear liquor swirling inside it, while taking a swig from the bottle himself. Jack eyed it intently, ignoring the glass at first, as if to say, _why do I only get a sip._

"Your medicine."

"How thoughtful of you," Jack said, sounding none too pleased, and eventually accepted the glass, downing its contents quickly and placing it aside. Adam shrugged, brushing the sarcasm off, and turned around with the intent of spending the rest of the evening on the balcony, with that vodka for company. Unfortunately Jack seemed to have similar plans, and he faced him again in the doorframe, blocking his path and moving the bottle to his right hand, which was further away from Jack.

"Go back to bed," Adam ordered, trying to sound authoritative, but his tone was dismissed.

"Why?"

"Because of this, obviously," came the explanation, and when words didn't show any effect, well, actions usually did, so he delicately placed his free hand against the compress of Jack's wound, applying just enough pressure to be felt without causing the pain of the minor cut to flare up again. Jack didn't flinch this time, and managed to easily hold his green-gold, piercing stare.

"It's too hot. Your concern is touching, but really—"

Touching, indeed. Jack didn't finish his sentence and instead tapered off into a very soft, drawn-out sigh, and his muscles contracted notably when touched by Adam's artificial, metallic digits, temperature even lower now thanks to the bottle of booze they'd still been holding onto a minute ago.

"How's this," Adam asked, palm flat against his stomach now, slowly moving across skin that was glistening thanks to a sheen of sweat. "I could give you a massage."

Jack grunted, and then, a bit quiet, "Pretty sure that'd just make it worse." Adam's roaming fingers slipped underneath the fabric of his bandages, spreading some of that acceptable cold. He couldn't feel much himself, so his gaze dropped eventually to take in more of him, and that was when Jack moved, suddenly, unpredictably.

Only to steal the bottle of vodka though, apparently, betraying Adam's expectations—he jerked forward and made a grab for it with his own prosthetic, Adam tried to reflexively move it out of his reach and simultaneously push him away, but in the end the glass wasn't able to withstand either man's augmented strength when they both pulled at it. It cracked and broke almost immediately under the pressure, contents spilling over the carpeted floor, shards of varying sizes now scattered across it.

Adam glanced at what remained of the broken container, gave a feral growl, and shoved Jack roughly back by his shoulder.

"Not even thirty minutes!" It really took some willpower not to yell, but at this rate, they'd be found out anyway. "And already you're making a mess. That was all there was, by the way, and I doubt we're eligible for room service!"

Jack let out a rumble of a laugh, clearly more amused than anything, especially at Adam's tantrum. " _I'm_ making a mess?" Instead of giving him a verbal answer, Adam just pushed him again in the direction of the bed, but Jack went rigid and stood his ground, using his own considerable weight as anchor. When Adam's hands darted to grasp at him and get a good hold—his shoulders, his hair—Jack followed suit, balking at his efforts.

_Stubborn bastard, I swear—_

But that was exactly what he liked about him, wasn't it? Adam pulled at his scalp, grunting, being so close now and pressing his forehead against his.

 _Shit_ , he thought, his own breathing shallow and irregular. It really was unbearably hot, mostly because Jack was really talented at getting his blood to boil, and whenever that happened (often enough) Adam could never quite decide if he wanted to punch him unconscious, or fuck his brains out. Probably both. Definitely both.

But Jack's sex drive was usually on the back burner, and he was injured to boot, so Adam felt like they were literally trapped in this position, no matter how much he—

"You're waiting for me to make the first move, aren't you?" Jack said, and Adam could feel his hot breath sweep over his own face as he spoke. "Mr Jensen can't handle the responsibility."

Of course— _smartass_. Both of Adam's hands were cupping his stupid face now, god only knew when exactly he had relocated them, probably at the same time he'd realized that he wanted nothing more than to crush his lips over his and shut him up. He couldn't be sure if Jack felt the same way, but what he _did_ know was that this had just turned into a contest of _Who Caves First._

And when it came to that, Jack wasn't the only stubborn one.

"I could make you do it," Adam murmured, thumbs brushing over bristled cheeks, "You know."

"Oh _please_ ," Jack said, facetiously. "Pheromones? That's practically cheating. And that worked only that one time, anyway."

"I don't need pheromones. You of all people should know that it's mostly about what others want to hear."

"Really." Jack kept eye contact, but subtly arched a brow. "And what do I want to hear?" He idly tugged at some strands of hair at the back of Adam's neck, who tilted his head a little, trying not to crack a grin. Oh boy. He liked to think he knew what he was doing, but even with all the technological advantages he had, Jack could be hard to read, always giving him such an inscrutable look. He liked that, too; beneath that stoic exterior, there was a predator that could strike any second, provided you pushed the right buttons.

"Hmm," Adam hummed, shifting his weight against Jack's, who still didn't budge. "Something like..." He paused, his voice reaching a new low when he spoke next. He could sound seductive if he had to.

"I want you so bad right now, John. I can hardly stand it." Jack gave an amused snort, but slightly turned his head and avoided the other man's gaze now, which was very telling, so Adam forced him to look at him again. "I want you to fuck me senseless." He wasn't lying, but saying it like that still felt silly, like he was begging for a fuck; yet he was too proud at the same time too push for it himself... or so he assumed.

Too bad Jack still hadn't done anything, and Adam was this close to just removing himself from him. He opened his mouth to say something dumb probably, _fuck this_ , pull away and stomp off to take a cold shower, but then Jack said, "Go on."

Perhaps he could work with this after all. He swallowed, unsconsciously licked over his lips and went on, being encouraged like this.

"I swear. I'm so hard for you right now, I have no idea how I'll even survive the night if you don't do something. I'll probably scrub myself raw. But you'd like that, wouldn't you? Watch me squirm? _Boss_."

"You're really good at this," Jack conceded that point to him, face stern. Adam gave a nervous chuckle, his resolve crumbling because despite everything, Jack still hadn't shown much of a physical reaction.

"Doesn't turn you on, though."

"You turn me on."

And then, mercifully, he finally went for a messy kiss Adam hadn't really expected to happen anymore tonight, and he sighed into his mouth, leaning, grinding artlessly against him and putting both arms around his shoulders, pressing up and against him wantonly. Jack's hands were on him within seconds, roaming and touching wherever they pleased, and Adam let him, doing much the same to him—trying not to forget about the wound, though, but it was difficult when you were this horny.

"'Suppose Robocop deserves some credit," said Jack, untangling himself lazily, hand going for the bulge in Adam's pants, squeezing him through the fabric like it was an afterthought. Adam thrusted into his palm and gave a breathless laugh, holding onto his back as he caught his earlobe between his teeth. "You finally watched that?"

"Fell asleep halfway through," Jack said, kneading dutifully for a while, before moving on to routinely work the belt and fly open. Adam still clung to him, panting into his ear in anticipation. "Because you have the attention span of a goldfish."

"I'll show you what my attention span is like."

That was when Jack roughly removed the man currently attached to him, shoving him towards the foot of the bed until he hit the edge with the back of his knees, prompting him to sit down. Adam complied, all too willingly—bed really sounded like a good idea right now, and he pulled Jack down as much as he could and had to in order to steal another lover's kiss, which Jack granted him, letting their tongues play for a few moments, and while they did, his living hand went between Adam's spread thighs to nonchalantly take out his half-hard cock.

"Jack," Adam said his name affectionately, running a hand through his shaggy hair.

"Adam," Jack answered, showing his partner a genuine smile, before sinking down to his knees.

Adam's optics follow him, and he gasped when he could feel Jack's hot breath at his cock in addition to the warm hand that was already tugging at it.

"You weren't kidding about being hard," Jack commented, apparently quite comfortable between the other man's legs and his head in his lap, and shot a meaningful look upwards.

"Of course," Adam almost moaned, and closed his eyes for a few seconds to collect himself. He hadn't thought it possible to grow even harder, but with the sight provided—fuck, he was going to suck him off, and Jack was just fucking fantastic at that. He used both his arms for support, hands placed slightly behind him on the mattress.

"You're the only man who can do that to me, hope you're proud of yourself," he muttered quietly, watching as Jack pressed lips that were curled into a very smug grin to his shaft, kissing it softly before sensually running his wet tongue all the way up from the base to the head, lapping up the precome.

"A little bit."

Then he swallowed him, cock disappearing into his mouth inch after inch, and Adam was really damn glad that Jack was using his hands to keep his hips pinned where they were because otherwise he might have violently thrusted into his throat.

"God, Jack," he groaned when Jack sucked enthusiastically, tongue and lips running up and down his hard length at the same time. Adam scythed his hand through his hair, keeping all those lose strands out of his face so he could watch it as he blew him. It seemed content—serene, even, despite the incredibly vulgar act, and Jack hummed around his cock, vibrations adding to the friction.

"Fucking... how amazing you are," he panted, incoherently, not quite sure what he was saying anymore, but it didn't matter—probably got the point across just fine. "Gorgeous. I just fucking love it when you suck my cock, mmh."

Jack grasped his cock again and pulled it out of his mouth, fist pumping him in long, hard strokes, just the way Adam liked it. "Don't I know it." He leaned down again to lick at his glans, tongue swirling, and Adam heaved a shaky sigh. "You always go crazy when I do it. I must be doing something right."

"Yes, yes, get back to it," Adam demanded, impatient now, pushing Jack's head into his crotch, who returned to work. He somehow managed to laugh, despite having a cock shoved down his throat. He didn't mind.

While Jack was concentrating on giving his partner the best fucking blowjob in the world (or that's what it felt like to him, at least), Adam let himself and Jack go, sinking down onto the bed, keeping his ankles locked at Jack's back just to make sure he wouldn't suddenly move away or anything silly like that. Clawing aimlessly at the sheets, he moaned—completely forgetting about the fact that they were illicit guests in this fine establishment. Who cared anymore, really. Jack was sucking him off, and he didn't have any capacities left for anything else, mentally or physically.

Given Jack's skillful lips and tongue and moist warmth, it didn't take long. He considered not warning him at all when he was about to come apart, but he hadn't been kidding about the _wanting to be fucked senseless_ part, either, so maybe he should—

"Jack," he croaked, after some minutes, when that heralding prickle began to set in. "I'm gonna—I'm gonna come, just, mmhnn, thought you might be interested in knowing—"

Hard to tell, since Jack didn't stop. Or gave him a nonverbal answer—just continued to _stubbornly_ bob his head, sucking, harder and faster now. Coaxing him?

Oh well, Adam had given him a warning, at least, so he really could not be blamed. He was extraordinarily vocal when he came into Jack's mouth, moaning loudly and arching his hips, and the other man apparently still saw no reason to spit him out. He swallowed patiently, all of it, Adam could feel the muscles in his throat move rhytmically; and even when he was done spilling and struggling for breath, Jack kept servicing him by licking his still engorged length, his palm squeezing every last drop out of him, wasting none of it.

Letting him ride out his orgasm to its fullest. _God._ Had Adam not been too spent to say anything else, he would have demanded Jack to move up and kiss him right the fuck now, but he trusted him to know how much he appreciated him even without having to say it.

"I always have to clean up your messes," he heard Jack chuckle, then felt his tongue on his abs, apparently getting rid of whatever he hadn't been able to swallow. Adam grunted, the implication not lost on him.

"It's your fault," he said, audibly tired, and didn't resist when Jack yanked down his pants, tossing them aside.

"My fault, eh?" Jack crawled on top of him, his heavy, broad body covering Adam's, keeping him trapped on the bed. Not that he minded—he felt strangely comfortable under him. Safe, even, and he placed his hands against his shoulders.

"If memory serves right, you _were_ asking for this." He was grinning triumphantly, and Adam couldn't even come up with a decent retort, so he just craned his head to crush his mouth over his, kissing him longingly, lazily, tongue running over his lips still tasting like himself.

"What if I ask for more," Adam said, nestling up to him, placing soft, light kisses along Jack's throat and collarbone. He was docile, and drunk on too much affection for a man that was essentially his captor, but it was easy to forget about how fucked up he was when they fucked like this.

"I'd say you're a greedy little shit," Jack teased, with a smile, and indulged Adam with his mouth, giving him enough time to regain his strength for... well, whatever there was still to come. Adam was idly sucking on his bottom lip and lacing mechanical fingers with his prosthesis when he began to press a knee between his thighs, grinding perhaps not so subtly, to signal him that he was ready to move on.

Of course Jack wouldn't just do it wordlessly now.

"Something the matter, Adam?"

"Yeah," Adam said, rubbing against him, too needy to keep up the banter. "I want your cock up my ass." Jack was probably also the only man who could make him say things like that, but oh hell, there was no room for shame, "That'd be pretty great right now, I think." Perhaps he'd drunk the entire bottle of vodka after all and just couldn't remember it.

"You think," Jack murmured against his lips, claiming his mouth once more, while Adam blindly reached down between the both of them, trying to free Jack's cock, and succeeding. His fingertips brushed over his semi-erect length.

"You're hard," Adam guessed.

"Told you."

"Told me what?"

"That you turn me on."

Adam's face felt hot, realizing in that moment, for some obscure reason, that he was completely naked. Frowning, he pushed himself up and Jack back, until they were both on their knees on the bed, and immediately sought out physical contact again, keeping their bodies close and touching, hands and lips all over each other. Eventually, his open, wet mouth trailed a wet path over his chest, skipping the bandages, down to his stomach. Jack gripped him by the shoulders, and Adam took a deep breath before wrapping his lips around his cock, sucking him off with the intent of thoroughly coating his shaft in saliva and enjoying the hands that were affectionately stroking his curved back.

Jack wouldn't let him tend to his dick for more than a minute or so before he pushed him back down onto the mattress though, on his stomach, face hitting pillows that would have stifled any protest. There was none, only a flutter of anticipation in his stomach that surprised him every time they got to this point.

He felt Jack's weight soon enough, as well as his coarse lips pressing a kiss to his neck, running down his spine to the small of his back. Adam gave a shuddering sigh, eyes closed, just feeling him, his hands on his ass, one cold, one warm, as he pushed the cheeks apart, burying his face between them.

"Oh fuck," Adam hissed, trying not to squirm as Jack's curious tongue poked inside him, wondering if he had any inhibitions at all when it came to putting his mouth in weird places. The whole point of this quickly became clear, though, because Jack briefly raised his head to spit onto him, and he only leaned down again to spread it and make sure Adam was slick enough. Once he was satisfied—after a couple of minutes during which Adam thought he was about to go crazy if Jack didn't put his cock inside him soon—he sat up, grabbing Adam's waist to pull him up a little, into a more convenient position, before sliding his length along the cleft, up and down, and that seemed to last another eternity.

"Jesus Jack, just," Adam very nearly growled, voice thick with primal desire, his hips swaying as he desperately tried to grind against that cock, "Fuck me already. Fuck. Me."

"So pushy," Jack said, with a slight lilt, and Adam groaned in frustration, knowing exactly what he was after.

" _Please_ fuck me." He just needed that huge throbbing dick inside his ass, was that so hard to understand—

"Ahh," Jack finally relented, guiding the tip of his cock to the right place, and started to push inside his hole, agonizingly slow, causing Adam to bite into the pillow to stifle his own wanton moaning. He was so hard and hot and thick and he didn't think it possible, but his knees were trembling as Jack penetrated him, burying himself to the hilt inside him until Adam could feel his balls.

He reached behind himself for one of Jack's thighs, fingers digging into it and trying to accommodate the slightly bigger man as best as he could when he trusted him with the majority of his weight, pressing down and rolling his hips for the first time. Adam felt him move inside him and around him; it was so fucking great, because Jack was everywhere. Jack, Jack, Jack. He couldn't really form a coherent sentence anymore that didn't consist of the three words fuck, me, and Jack.

"How's.... that, Adam? Like that?"

Adam gave a very guttural, stifled noise in response that hardly resembled anything human, but he supposed him bucking against Jack to impale himself further should be answer enough. Funny how easily Jack was able to reduce him to a mindless, drooling mess.

Especially considering he wasn't even hard—if he got off on anything in that moment, it was _Jack_ getting off and grinding into his body so effectively. He instinctively clenched down on him, making himself as tight as possible, hoping Jack would pick up the pace soon—

He didn't. Instead, he reached between Adam's legs, fingers wrapping around his flaccid cock, apparently trying to stroke it back up, which wasn't unwelcome at all, because god did he love it when Jack spoiled him, but there was something else he wanted more, even if it was difficult to wrap his mind around it.

"Hnnn," Adam grunted, feeling so damn full and almost like he was being crushed, especially when he registered Jack softly blowing warm air into his ear. He was quickly growing hard in his palm again.

"Gonna be satisfied after this, hm?"

Adam tried to shake his head, and Jack gave a good-mannered, lenient chuckle.

"I'm not getting any rest tonight, am I."

"That's... that's not it, Jack—" And the next few words were really, really not easy to squeeze out, considering how perfect his current position was, the steady grazing of his prostate, "Stop... stop for a minute. Stop."

And he did stop, immediately. Jack didn't always take him serious or heed his requests, but when he demanded him to stop, he did so without argument or teasing commentary. He removed himself, and pulled out, sounding concerned when he asked, "What's wrong?"

Adam needed a few moments to pick himself up, unlike Jack, who didn't look or sound at all like they were in the middle of sex—fully errect cock aside.

"You're holding back," Adam said, rolling onto his back and looking up at Jack, who seemed genuinely confused.

"Well, yeah? Why do you think?" He pointed at his bandages.

"Bullshit."

He didn't really want to have this argument now of all times, but sometimes... Jack gave an exasperated sigh.

"Are we fucking or not?"

"We are, provided you don't treat me like a fragile doll," Adam stated. "When I said fuck me, I meant _fuck me_. There's a difference." Jack apparently wasn't listening, and made a grab for Adam's cock, but it was roughly batted away, followed by somewhat of a scowl directed at him.

"You really don't get how relationships are supposed to work, do you. Give and take?"

"I don't really care about that, Adam—"

"Yeah, but I do. Let me rephrase what I said so you understand it: _use me_. Get it now?"

Jack rolled his eye, giving a growl of annoyance as he picked up right where they left off, situating himself on top of Adam again.

"Right, whatever, if that's what you want."

"Yeah, it is."

Because he didn't want to remain the only one to let himself go and not feel ashamed or like he had to hold himself back for some reason. Jack kissed him, aggressively this time, pushing his legs apart and hauling one of them over his shoulder, keeping it there while he lined his cock up with Adam's entrance again, penetrating him in one quick stroke this time; slamming into him so hard he actually bit down on his tongue. Jack wasn't very gentle now, and he couldn't tell if that was because of their little dispute just now, or because he really was about to heed Adam's request.

"That's more like it," he groaned, reclining his head, when Jack began to thrust into him violently, at a rapid, unforgiving pace that was so much more _like him_. It wasn't at all like the slow, lazy fuck before—it was fairly uncomfortable in fact, and Adam knew he'd feel sore for days after this, but that was better than feeling like a selfish brat who couldn't even satisfy his own lover. Jack wasn't like him—he was rough and brutal at his core, and that was how he needed it. And who could handle a man like that better than him?

Not to mention that there was something really damn satisfying about Jack getting off to his freak body. He was definitely going for his own pleasure now, pounding him into the mattress, and that was pleasurable in itself.

Reaching for his arm, Adam pulled the older man down and over himself, like a blanket, clinging to his shoulders and panting raggedly.

"You're hot like this," he whispered into his ear, disrupted by harsh thrusts every now and again that rocked his entire body.

"You're not gonna come," said Jack, and this time, it was Adam's turn to chuckle, voice strained. He didn't care whether he came or not, as long as Jack came—inside him.

"You know what turns me on," he said, grabbing a fistful of Jack's hair, who had to be close, plowing into him like the force of nature he was.

"You."

Jack slammed his head against his shoulder, teeth digging into the skin hard enough to leave marks when he came. Adam cried out in pain, medical implant registering the damage immediately, counteracting it, but he really couldn't care less about that, too distracted by the feeling of Jack pulsing and spilling inside him, so much that the majority of it was immediately squeezed out again, sticky white liquid running down his thigh.

For a few precious moments, he blacked out completely from the sheer force if Jack's climax, and when he came to again, he saw and felt Jack moving, his cock slipping out of him. There was crimson in his beard, making him look like a wild beast, and his gaze was glued to Adam's shoulder, prompting him to turn his head, and— _oh_.

He was bleeding from that bite, about an inch deep. _Well at least he didn't take a chunk outta me_ , Adam tried to downplay it mentally. Not that it would've made much of a difference, just get some more metal to patch him up, whatever.

"You gonna clean up the mess I made?" He asked Jack, with a lopsided, tired grin. Jack's grim expression probably meant that he didn't find that funny at all.

_At least that'd be fair for once._

Without further comment, he moved off the bed to procure some more first aid supplies, even though it was mostly unnecessary, given how quickly he healed up.

"Hey," Adam said, once the older man returned to his side, sitting up and gently pushing his hands down, and everything in them.

"Jack."

"What."

"You know I love you, right?"

"What?" The disbelief was almost palpable. No matter how blunt a man he was, when others were the same way towards him, he often stumbled.

"What brought this..."

"Nothing really," Adam said, leaning against him. His entire back was hurting. And his shoulder. "I just wanted to say it. It's cathartic, in a way."

"Okay," Jack said, reluctantly wrapping an arm around the man, resulting in an awkward half-embrace. He offered no confession of his own, but that was all right. He felt safer locking himself up.

"Okay," Adam said, touching his lips to his ear. Rationally, he knew he wasn't supposed to want this, something so damaging and unhealthy, but emotionally, he'd long since passed the point of no return.

After more than five years, he loved this man, with all his faults.

"It's okay," he told them both.


	12. On Trying To Change

"So?"

Using the remote to turn off the TV, Adam looked at Jack expectantly, who was still staring at the now black screen. A few moments passed before he slowly turned his head, meeting the other man's gaze, blinking once, twice.

"So what?"

"What did you think?"

He looked like a third grader expected to hold a presentation on quantum physics; lost, helpless and overwhelmed. He shrugged. Adam grimaced, "Anything?"

"The girl was pretty cute?"

Adam, frustrated, hurled the remote at his head, Jack gracefully dodged at the last second. "We watch _Blade Runner_ and that's all you got out of that?!" He grated, voice rising. "Did you pay attention at all?"

"Not really." At least he was fucking _honest_. With a groan Adam stood, his hopes and dreams of having a meaningful conversation with his unwitting _partner_ shattered into tiny little pieces. Really, that would be too much to ask for. He threw up his hands, resigning.

"Right. So in other news, your idea of spending a nice evening would involve taking apart guns and hunting rats for dinner. Or was there something else that managed to hold your attention for longer than two seconds?"

Jack canted his head to the side, remaining on the couch. He appeared much more tired than he did two hours ago, drawling his words lazily, like the movie had almost put him to sleep. "I just don't see the appeal..."

"This is what people _do_ ," Adam gruffed. How did you explain something so _normal_? "You know? Together?"

"People?" Jack raised a brow at him. "Or couples."

"We are not a couple," Adam immediately said, sharply.

"Then stop behaving like we are, throwing a tantrum over nothing."

That shut him up, and Adam snorted angrily, walking over to the nearby kitchenette to pour himself a drink, something he had to resort to nearly every evening lately, god knew why. "We could go out," he heard Jack suggest, trying to offer him _something_. "There's a restaurant down the—"

" _No_ ," Adam said, slamming down the glass so hard on the counter it almost cracked. "I'm still trying to forget last time." A scenario he had started referring to as MCA in his own head, _maximum credible accident._

"Last time wasn't so bad..."

"Yeah, only that you almost killed the waiter and we spent the night in jail, which led to us having to move cities and change IDs, that's very _romantic_ , Jack."

"You're exaggerating, like always. The steak was great and I was getting tired of the place anyway."

Headache pills. Maybe he should get some of those. Adam debated for a moment if it was okay for him and his augmented body to have both at the same time, the pills and the booze. Probably.

"You know what, forget it. Go play with your guns or something," he said dismissively, hoping for some peace.

He did hear Jack rise from his seat as Adam filled his glass with scotch, but oddly enough, he seemed to be approaching him rather than retreating to his own workplace in the cramped, non-descript apartment they wouldn't stay at for longer than two weeks anyway. 

"Stop drinking so much. You're turning into an alcoholic," Jack said softly, pressing against Adam's back and trying to take that glass out of his prosthetic, but Adam held it out of his reach, then jabbed his metal elbow into his ribs. It had little effect.

"Yeah, with you around, that's kinda inevitable."

"I'd say you're turning into an asshole too, but you've been that way since I met you."

"God, you're showering me with compliments tonight." Adam squirmed slighty against him and quickly downed the contents of his glass, granting Jack no other opportunity to deny him his daily shot. Having a second or third one could turn out to be difficult, however. He didn't like it when he was drunk, and that never took long, due to his fucked metabolism.

Jack sighed against his neck, face buried in Adam's shoulder, his large hands placed against his stomach. Adam could feel their warmth even through the fabric. It was the same routine as always: he tried to make up for his own faults and social deficiencies with physical affection, since that was something they could both appreciate and enjoy; there wasn't much to misunderstand or argue about as they were usually on the same page. Adam was tempted to shove him away this time, because he felt like being a petulant child tonight. Just to get the point across.

Unfortunately Jack was pretty great at sex. So great, in fact, that it had stopped bothering Adam a while ago that he didn't have soft, petite hands and a nice pair of tits. His mouth had been very convincing even without any words coming out of it, too. Maybe conversation was overrated.

Maybe.

"Are you done?"

Upon that statement and a determined push, Jack removed both his hands and lips, leaning back while Adam turned around. It hadn't been a _no_ – more like an observation. Even so, Jack was usually the type to quietly back off after a couple of tries, so Adam half expected him to stalk off, sulking. But this time he said, "I guess. Are you done trying to make me feel like I cannot possibly meet your standards?"

Adam crossed his arms in front of his chest. Apparently they weren't done after all. "It has nothing to do with that. You're just not even trying."

Jack snorted. "Yeah, and I don't see you trying to get back your arms and legs because damn, that would be great for both of us, wouldn't it? I wonder what the problem is."

With that, Adam fell silent, his green-gold eyes narrowing.

"That was low," he eventually said, grim.

"I know. Don't try to change what I am." Jack poked him in the chest with a finger, returning thatmildly pissed off expression. "You will just have to live with it."

He wasn't wrong. Too bad though Adam didn't have the option of simply walking away if living with it became too difficult. Unbearable, at times, especially during those few genuinely intimate moments laced with concern, when the ache became almost palpable.

"Jack," Adam said firmly, after some deliberation. The man in front of him held his gaze easily, despite the words that followed. "I fucking hate you. You're aware, I hope."

"Of course."

"Good," Adam replied, grabbed a fistful of his collar, and pulled him into a forceful, messy kiss.

*

Adam stepped out of the steamy shower, reaching for the towel. "This one sounds good," he heard Jack call from the bedroom as he wrapped it around his waist, and padded over to him, still dripping wet but not wanting to converse with him by shouting. He felt too good and satisfied for that. "What?"

"Here, it's about lions.... what's it called," Jack mused, sitting naked on the bed, a tablet in his hands. Apparently he was browsing a movie library online. " _The Lion King._ "

Adam stared at him. Points for effort. "That's a cartoon. For kids." He decided to move on quickly, to the pile of relatively clean clothes to get a pair of boxers while toweling himself dry.

"But it has lions." Then again, maybe that was the only kind of movie he would be able to comprehend. One about singing cartoon lions. "I ate a lion once."

" _Jack._ "

"What?"

He didn't get it, and Adam sighed. He couldn't even be mad at him this time.

"We're not fucking if we watch The Lion King," he grunted, pulling his boxers up. That would just feel all kinds of wrong. He climbed back into the bed he had left about twenty minutes ago to get rid of the smell of sex that was still on Jack because, like usual, he just didn't care. He hadn't changed the sheets either like Adam had suggested.

"I have to choose now?" Jack gave him an incredulous look, like that didn't even make sense.

"Mmh," Adam responded, taking the tablet out of his hands—it was his, anyway, and Jack had already broken it twice, no idea how, he might just be allergic to technology. Or the other way around. He opened one of the unfinished novels he had on the device, signal for Jack that they were done for tonight, and indeed, he didn't bother him.

That was also the only reason why he could tolerate sleeping in the same bed. It was occasionally nice, even, to wake up next to someone.

But then something shifted.

"What... are you doing."

Adam turned his head, distracted by something wet and hairy—this paragraph had been so good, too. Jack was biting softly into his shoulder, looking up at him. A scowl flittered over Adam's features, and Jack removed his teeth, instead resting his chin on his shoulder.

"I am a lion. A very hungry one."

Right.

Adam punched him square in the face and out of the bed, with all the strength his augmented fist could muster—reflexively, of course. Jack ended up on the ground with a red, soon swollen cheek, cursing under his breath about how this was _totally unnecessary_.

"You're a _dead_ lion if you don't stop being ridiculous," Adam growled, trying his hardest not to fucking laugh, because this man was impossible and definitely detrimental to his mental sanity. 

"Couch. Now."

  
  



	13. illustration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Commission.  
> Artist: [doubleleaf](http://doubleleaf.deviantart.com/)


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